Crash and Burn
by MagpieTales
Summary: Sookie returns to Bon Temps, free of the effects of the fairy wish and determined to build a new life for herself. But things never go smoothly for our girl. She finds herself dragged deeper into the supernatural world, in ways she didn't imagine. Part 2 of the Long Haul Saga. Spoilers for all books, Sookie and Eric POV.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and settings belong to Charlaine Harris. She created and owns them, I'm just playing dress up.  
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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Hi lovely readers! Sorry this sequel has been so long coming. It's half written, so I'm intending to post a chapter a week while I'm finishing it so you don't all forget I exist.

As usual, this is an adult story. It will be long (so long) and there will be angst. In fact just imagine 'Don't Panic' written in friendly pink letters at the start of every chapter. It will help. First a brief recap for those who don't want to reread Turbulence, and then on with the show...

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><p><strong>Recap of Turbulence:<br>**_Three years after he was forced to marry Freyda, Eric was caught up in a complicated political plot woven by Alabama, an old adversary, who married Freyda bigamously using a loophole in Ocella's contract. Eric was tortured and almost killed. Rescued in the nick of time, Karin and Freyda were ended in the fight. Pam brought Eric home to recover._

_Back at the farmstead, Sookie, grieving over a miscarriage, argued with Sam, who took off to Texas without her for Thanksgiving. After much soul-searching over her failing marriage, Sookie went to Pam for advice and was shocked to run into Eric. _

_The next day Sookie was kidnapped by Lattesta but rescued by Pam. Back home she sustained a serious head injury. Eric healed her despite his own injuries, but collapsed. Sookie woke up to find him out cold. She fed him, but it took Pam's blood to revive him. A furious Sam arrived and so, unexpectedly, did Niall. Niall offered Eric a healer to repay him for saving Sookie. _

_The healer, Rory, was a fae woman who is more than she seems. Part-dae and an empath; she healed Eric and helped with the trauma of his torture. Eric thanked her, giving her some power over him._

_Sookie got sound advice about Sam from Michele and Kennedy, Tara not so much. Sam was evasive about the guards Niall mentioned, so Sookie went to Fangtasia to ask Pam. She shared hug with Eric and discovered her peaceful life was a sham. The guards had foiled several attempts on her life. Then Rory arrived and dropped a bombshell: Sookie was tied magically to Sam, a 'join' created by the wish Sookie made to save him. Rory was adamant that Sookie didn't love Sam, but Sookie protested that she did and left._

_When Sam found Sookie at home smelling of Eric, he flew into a rage, almost shifting. Sookie discovered, from Niall, Amelia and Dr Ludwig, that the join was responsible for Sam's erratic behaviour. Jason saw Sookie's bruises and picked a fight with Sam, landing them both in jail. Kenya, worried Sookie would be hurt, persuaded Sam to stay away for a few nights. It all came to a head in his trailer: Sam forced Sookie to admit she didn't love him. In turmoil, he moved out of the house._

_Meanwhile, Eric was in Dallas for Alabama's trial. Rory arrived with damning evidence against her and her plot was exposed. The verdict went against her. Eric ended her, getting closure, and found he had powerful allies. Texas, Mississippi and Indiana asked him to take Louisiana, but Eric was wary of another plot._

_Niall found a way to remove the join. Leaving a letter for Sam, Sookie said good-bye to her family and friends and travelled to England. There she crossed into another realm to meet a powerful ancient woman who immersed her in a sacred pool to remove the join. She made it back to England and Niall, and then collapsed._

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><p><strong>Prologue:<strong>

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><p><strong>Part I: Safe Harbour:<strong>

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><p>Darkness. My eyes wouldn't open. My limbs were limp, unresponsive. I was swaying in some-one's arms, carried. Then lowered, jostled onto a soft bed. Oblivion.<p>

…

Rousing briefly, eyes scrunched against the dim light, I struggled to roll over, damp sheets clinging to my clammy skin.

Later, a draft roused me, cool against the sweat on my back. I shivered, chilled. Soft covers were tucked gently around me, hushed voices whispered close by. Cocooned in comfort and warmth I slid back into the dark, to dream strange dreams.

_Dead birds hung in a tree; dead birds that stirred, screeching and flapping to life._

_Honey eyes in a tanned face, crooked teeth in a shy smile._

_A drowned woman rose, dripping, from a pool, her cold flesh flushing with life and health, straggles of hair dark with water and dripping weeds drying rapidly into golden braids woven with water lilies. She smiled at me._

_A wood, blanketed with snow that melted in seconds, a carpet of blue flowers blossoming in its place._

The dreams let me go, let me float to the surface.

The room was dark and I burned with thirst. A cloth, cool and wet, dabbed gently at my forehead. A wiry arm slipped under my shoulders and lifted me. A glass pressed against my lips, coaxing words were murmured. I drank the tepid liquid greedily, tasting sweetness and spices.

Sleep and fever dreams tugged me back into the depths.

...

I felt like an old dish-rag that had been wrung out too many times. Frayed around the edges.

I opened my eyes to a blue wall, which might have been calming if I had the slightest idea where I was. There was a quiet familiar noise behind me, a rhythmic snick-snacking. Gingerly rolling onto my back, I saw a homely bedroom with solid wooden furniture, door half-open and one window, drapes closed against the daylight.

An elderly lady sat beside the bed, knitting with neat precision. Her hands stilled and she looked up.

Unruly tendrils of white hair curled from her bun to frame her nut-brown face. A face wizened with age, cheeks plump, but etched deep by wind and sun and ready smiles. Her warm brown eyes crinkled with pleasure.

"Good mornin', dearie. Daveth will be relieved. That boy 'as been worried sick." Her voice had a warm, rich burr that rubbed all the hard sounds of her words soft.

I conducted a mental stock-take. Nope, I didn't recognise my hostess or this room, and I didn't recall a Daveth either. I cleared my throat and asked huskily, "What date is it?"

Now that might sound rude, and not the most obvious question to ask after waking up in a strange bed, but my situation was hardly normal. My last coherent memory was coming back – to England, I hoped that was where I was – after a trippy day-trip to another realm. Having left in the depths of winter and found spring had sprung when I returned, the date was an urgent priority.

She answered kindly, "It be Sunday, twenty-third of May, my love. Niall brought you 'ere Tuesday last, burning up with fever. 'E asked me to look af'er 'ee. I be Talwynn. But 'ee can call me Wynn."

"Pleased to meet you," I croaked automatically. I'd been gone six months, just as Niall predicted. "Where am I? Who's Daveth?

"We be jus' up the 'ill from the Rising Sun. My grandson Daveth fetched your things over." She gestured at my case sitting in the corner, and then tutted at herself. "'E'd be Dave to thee. 'Ee fetched 'ee from London last December." Her eyes flickered with caution. "Remember that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"None of that. Wynn," she corrected firmly, looking relieved I hadn't forgotten. "Now, I'll fetch some broth and af'er that 'ee can 'ave a bath."

Wynn was tiny and some age if Dave was her grandson, but she sure wasn't frail. She bustled up and down the steep stairs with a tray and stripped the bed the second I was out of it. The broth soothed my throat and the bath was heavenly. Weak and shaky, I pulled on a fresh nightgown and slid gratefully between clean sheets. Wynn let me sleep the day away, only waking me for more broth in the evening.

…

Wynn left me alone most of the next day. I appreciated that, feeling like I'd had a bad bout of 'flu. I'd never liked company while I was too weak to keep out thoughts that weren't mine. I spent the time resting, napping and thinking. Thankfully my head was clear despite my fatigue.

The weightiest topic, the one that consumed me in quiet moments, was my marriage to Sam.

I came to some long overdue conclusions. Michele had been spot on: I had settled for less, for safety over passion, friendship over ardour. That missing spark was why Sam complained that I shut him out. Not that he was wrong. I had.

I hadn't given our relationship my all.

It went beyond stubbornly keeping my savings to myself. I had consistently hidden parts of my life, myself from him: I didn't share my grief, my fears over my fairy-ness, even my renewed friendship with Pam. I didn't discuss the future with him. I didn't act as if we were a team.

We had our 'special' difficulties too. My telepathy got in the way and, if I was honest, I had a hard time with Sam's otherness too. If I'd tried harder to accept his nature maybe I could have overcome that. But I hadn't. I hadn't tried with my whole heart.

Sam was right: no healthy relationship could flourish if one person held back.

Oh sure, I'd thrown myself into being a dutiful wife to compensate for the absence of passion between us. I'd taken that too far, giving up my college dreams without a murmur of discontent, concentrating on Sam's needs instead – running the bar, fitting in with his family, providing him with children, or trying to – all when I hadn't truly loved him.

Mulling over how much I'd changed for Sam made me uneasy. Pam had nailed that, I admitted ruefully. I could blame it on the fairy magic, but I had vowed to prove his mom Bernie wrong, vowed to make Sam happy, hadn't I? I suspected that was sheer Stackhouse stubbornness, no magic required.

Discovering my wish had kept Sam magically tied to me had been a shock for both of us. Sam resented the hell out of me for inadvertently taking his freedom. The whole mess forced us both to face the painful fact that I didn't love him and that hurt him deeply. With a nudge from Bernie in evil mother-in-law mode, Sam had abruptly moved out. Right after that, the awful prospect of the magic destroying Sam had sent me rushing across the Atlantic in full-on saviour mode to get rid of the damn 'join'.

Now the crisis was over, Sam's resentment didn't seem entirely reasonable. It wasn't like I'd planned to control him; the join was an unintended consequence of saving his life. Sam had reacted as if I'd done it deliberately.

He'd sure been quick to jump ship on me, too. That hurt and I went to sleep that night a little resentful myself.

…

The second day brought further clarity, my blinkers gone with the join. I shook off my disquiet about what that implied and evaluated Sam as a husband, fairy magical influences aside. I owed him that much.

He was a good provider. We ran the bar well together, our skills complementing each other's. He was kind and decent. We shared similar values and faith. He'd done his best to protect me from his family's curiosity, tried to calm their fears about my ability. They'd accepted me after a few hiccups, Bernie aside. And he'd tried to stand up to her, as best he could. Most of Bon Temps approved of us. He was a good friend.

Those things were all positive, but didn't I deserve more?

And Sam had his flaws.

He was secretive and not just about being a shifter. His casual mention of a wild teenage past made me realise that after three years together I knew precious little about his life before he came to Bon Temps. I could forgive him hiding a painful past, but not for hiding things I needed to know: things about the supe world, what was happening around me and the danger I was in. He was far too eager to keep me in the dark over that. I didn't want that sort of protection.

He was an intensely private man. That made him uncomfortable with my telepathy and around Hunter. Yet Sam didn't respect my privacy, never had. That wasn't the magic. Years ago he'd revealed my relationship with Bill to all and sundry without a second thought. He had no qualms about discussing my business online with Lord knows who either. When things went to hell between us, he ran his mouth off to Tara and half of Hotshot about me, triggering a buzz of salacious gossip, all of it untrue.

I expected more consideration for my privacy when he guarded his own so tightly.

Sam had an unfortunate tendency to jump to conclusions. First my miscarriages were cause by his nature, not that he furnished me with that explanation. Then he blamed the vamp blood I'd had. When Eric turned up, Sam was convinced that I'd invited Eric into our home, that Eric had engineered getting his blood into me again. Granted, Sam had never been fond of vamps – a prejudice handed down from his mom, I suspected – and Eric was certainly not his best undead buddy. But it wasn't just vamps; Sam had treated Quinn with the same suspicion.

Come to think of it, Sam had been territorial back when we were engaged, muttering and pouting every time I ran into Bill or Alcide. I'd been flattered, put it down as a supe thing. I knew now, no thanks to Sam, that he didn't get full rights over me in the supe world until we were married, which explained some of his insecurity. Unfortunately, like a fool, I'd kept the peace by avoiding Bill and Alcide. That set an unfortunate precedent. Sam expected me to avoid any man he saw as a threat.

So … Sam didn't trust me. He was jealous and possessive.

Remembering how Sam was back when I was with Bill, I figured that was Sam's true self, not the magic. I wouldn't stand for that or his recent behaviour – searching my purse and phone, maybe even following me to Fangtasia.

Could I trust him?

He'd flirted with that shifter girl at Merlotte's. Right in front of me. He might have felt guilty, but he certainly didn't stop being 'friendly' to female customers to spare my feelings. I got pissed all over again when it dawned on me that Sam sure had one hell of a double standard there, expecting me to avoid attractive men.

He _had_ refused that skank he met in Texas, the one who shoved her tongue down his throat all _uninvited_. I rolled my eyes. He was drunk and dancing with her, it wasn't that uninvited. How much temptation he could resist without fairy magic tying him to me? He said himself shifters found the call of the wild hard to ignore. Worse: when Thalia said he smelt of another woman he'd flat-out lied. Instead of coming clean about Skanky McSkank he'd used my telepathy to mislead me without a second thought. So quickly and smoothly I felt it showed his true character.

A man used to covering his tracks.

That gave me pause. Messing around with other women and lying about it? Hell no, that wasn't for me.

Other incidents seemed manipulative with hindsight. For such a private man, proposing in front of our friends was odd. Had he done that to make it harder for me to refuse him? Had he gone as far as getting Jason and Tara on side beforehand, hoping they'd sway me?

Then there was the subtle pressure to have children. The birth control 'oops' on our honeymoon had freaked me out, but he was totally unfazed. He dropped hints that I stubbornly ignored, until he offered to babysit Tara's twin on our first Valentine's Day. What guy does that? That was decidedly suspect. Had he tried to rail-road me into that too? Sam never questioned if I really wanted kids, or opened up on why it was so important to him. Did he even want kids or was that the join pushing him to bind us together anyway he could?

The violence though, that had to be the magic. I knew Sam, the normal stresses and strains of life wouldn't have been enough to push him to that. Probably.

I sighed. The damn fairy magic clouded everything.

The last two strikes against him disappointed me deeply and there was no magical pass for either in my book.

First, he had no idea how miserable I'd been for the last year. I didn't think that was expecting too much. It was obvious to Kennedy, Michele and even Pam, who barely saw me. Sam, who lived with me, had been completely oblivious, blamed it all on the miscarriages. I wanted a husband who was in tune with me, not one who took me for granted, saw me as a baby-factory.

Second, as Michele predicted, Sam had been real reluctant to try therapy. Maybe men did baulk at that, but he must've known it was our only chance. Without real commitment from him it would have been as effective as slapping a band-aid on a severed artery.

No, all in all, Sam was not the right man for me. Not even a good-enough man.

Bottom line: I didn't love him.

That evening not only was I well enough for a proper meal, but I was decided. I was ready to call it quits and start divorce proceedings as soon as I got home.

Kennedy was right: I would survive it.

…

Wynn had just arrived with breakfast when loud footsteps thundered up the stairs. She winked at me as she settled a full breakfast tray on my lap. The bacon smelt delicious. She crossed quickly to the open door and hissed, "Daveth, stop that racket!"

The footsteps stopped and there was a much quieter mumbled apology.

"I should think so too, young man." The mischievous look she shot me contrasted with her scolding tone. She asked me conversationally, "Can 'e see the patient?"

I grinned. "Sure."

Footsteps hammered up the last few stairs and a large body filled the doorway. Dave, his hair a little longer than when I'd last seen him but his eyes just as friendly, grinned broadly at the sight of me sitting up in bed. His thoughts were still murky to me but I felt his relief, which was more than I got from Wynn. She was a closed book and I had no idea what kind. I felt at ease with her, though.

"Morning, Miss Stackhouse. You look a lot better. Nana's remedies never fail, hey Nana?"

"Shush boy. Did 'ee get my shopping?"

"Yes, Nana. It's in the kitchen. Think you'll be up and about soon, Miss Stackhouse?"

"I think so. It's nice to see you, Dave. Call me Sookie."

He beamed at me. "You should stay another week, see the sights. I'd be happy to show you around."

"Oh, I couldn't. You've both done so much–"

Wynn butted in. "Nonsense. I don't turn sick folk out, not even Niall's kin." She winked mischievously. "And an 'oliday do 'ee good, lovey."

I'd already discovered saying no to Wynn was fruitless; the spry old gal rolled right over you like Katrina. It _was_ tempting, but I had Jason waiting for me, and Sam… I sighed. "I'll think about it."

Wynn gave me a shrewd look before she ushered Dave out so I could eat in peace.

…

After lunch, Wynn insisted on some fresh air, saying, "Sunshine be good for thee and thine, my love."

I didn't argue. Dressed in comfortable sweats, I made my way shakily downstairs and followed her out into the backyard, squinting against the light.

Linked by stone steps, a series of lawns were cut into the steep rising hillside. Each was surrounded by lush beds teeming with a bounty of plants that burgeoned over the green pools of neatly trimmed grass. A profusion of flowers of all colours, it was a genuine English country garden, the daylight version of Karin's moonlit painting.

Wynn settled me halfway up the slope, on a sheltered bench angled to catch the afternoon sun. I tucked the blanket she gave me over my legs. The heat wasn't as fierce as Louisiana, but the May sunshine warmed my bare arms pleasantly nonetheless.

Wynn reappeared in a wide hat, carrying a shallow wicker basket that held a ball of string and a small curved blade. A silver sickle. Odd, but Wynn was no ordinary old lady. She began working her way along the beds, cutting stems of flowers and herbs, tying them in bundles and humming quietly to herself. I soaked up the rays, relaxing to the sound of bees lazily visiting the lavender that was sending up clouds of sweet scent around me.

After a spell, Wynn's task brought her closer and we chatted some, finding we had barmaiding in common. She told me how she met her husband, a handsome fisherman, in the pub she worked at, and the fuss his mother made over them marrying because Wynn was older than him.

"Family be family, but in-laws be zummat else," she chuckled and I agreed heartily, thinking of Bernie.

Wynn lost her husband to the sea, but not before he had time to give her two strapping lads, and 'plenty of practice making 'em' she added with a wink. She told old stories about the herbs she was cutting. I suspected she knew a few unconventional 'recipes', but I didn't like to ask outright if she was a witch when she'd been so hospitable. We shared gardening tips, which led to me admiring the red rose climbing above her back door. I wondered aloud how Gran's roses were faring under Jason's less than tender care.

Wynn glanced up from her work and said shrewdly, "Ee were close to 'er."

Wynn was someone else's grandmother. I missed mine. I swallowed. "Yes. Gran raised me and Jason after we lost our parents."

"What were she like?"

I answered haltingly at first, watching Wynn's gnarled brown hands gathering stems instinctively. I described Gran's cooking, her DGD meetings, her love of gardening and gossip. Words flowed easier as I recounted anecdotes about her whooping Jason and putting Maxine Fortenberry in her place, chuckling at the memories. I touched on her strength, her love and her worries for us. Wynn didn't pry, but lulled by the garden and the sun I found myself telling her how Gran was torn between Fintan and her husband, how my daddy and Aunt Linda came to be, and how I wished she'd confided in me when she was alive so I understood why I was different.

Easing herself up and taking a seat next to me, Wynn asked if it had been hard, not knowing.

I answered frankly, unearthing things that had been buried for an age, painful hard things that sat in my heart like stones: the way my mother treated me, how hard school was, growing up as Crazy Sookie in Bon Temps, even a whisper of what Bartlett had done.

When I trailed off into silence, Wynn patted my knee, nodded to herself and got stiffly to her feet. "These old bones be ready for a cuppa, my love. I'll fetch us a cream tea."

She took her harvest inside, giving me time to pack away my sorrows and dry my eyes. When she came back, carrying a loaded tray, she'd swapped her gardening clothes for a Sunday-best dress. 'Cream tea' was fluffy home-made raisin scones with a generous spoonful of Wynn's best strawberry jam and a dollop of cream thick enough to cut. She called it clotted cream. It was delicious.

The mug of tea was very soothing. If the flavour was unusual, it hit the spot and I wasn't complaining.

…

The sunshine helped; I felt stronger. That evening I ate a light meal in the kitchen with Wynn, admiring her copper pans and the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, drinking more of her unusual tea.

I went to bed early and lay in the dark, my body relaxed and my mind strangely lucid. Talking with Wynn had drawn long-forgotten memories up from the dark depths, the past bubbling up to bring the present into sharper focus.

I'd made some colossal mistakes with Sam. I wasn't the sort to put myself under a microscope and self-analyse, but I would be doomed to repeat those mistakes if I didn't understand them.

Gran had raised me with old-fashioned ideas about marriage. Not that I was about to throw all of them out with the bathwater, but marrying Sam had fulfilled the life goals I'd been raised to seek: a well-run home, a hard-working husband, a couple of healthy kids. Sam fit the bill, down to the white picket fence if the one around his trailer counted.

I'd never expected to be so blessed, so I'd never given much thought to whether I actually wanted that. Women had other options these days. High-powered careers.

Well, some did. Education, a lack of it, limited my options. I'd planned to rectify that, but I hadn't even taken a bookkeeping course for the bar. I'd hardly hit my thirties running, career-wise, but there was still time to go to college. School had been a disaster, but I had control of my telepathy now. Heck, if Jason could do it, college would be a piece of cake.

Doubts about my intelligence whispered in my ear, nibbling at my confidence. I silenced them firmly, recognising a legacy from my momma, Michelle. All those tests she put me through, teachers and psychologists with long faces shaking their heads sadly at my parents.

That was enough to knock any kid's self-confidence.

I wasn't stupid or defective. I knew that. I wasn't that scared kid either, begging to stop the tests that made my head hurt, pleading for my momma's approval.

I didn't beg for anyone's approval now, I thought fiercely.

Wait.

I'd pleaded with Sam not to leave me. Heck, I'd stooped as low as a desperate 'I love you'.

I winced, ashamed. Oh, I'd convinced myself I meant it, but the lie was obvious to Sam. He had, quite rightly, laughed in my face.

It would be easy to say the join confused me, camouflaged my feelings, but honestly that was an excuse. Marriage meant love, had to in my book. I'd married him, therefore I must love him. I'd said it, lying to both of us, because otherwise nothing about us made sense.

That was on me.

But... I would never beg a man to stay if I was myself. I had too much pride. The neediness, the weepy apologies that coloured my time with Sam, those had to be the join. Right?

Those damn memories bubbled up at me. Momma, cold and disapproving; my childhood, spent ostracised and lonely; my daddy gone, washed away. Even Gran's love couldn't heal those wounds completely.

I yearned for the love and companionship I'd missed out on, hearing only criticism and censure from the thoughts around me. Had I clung to Sam because of that lonely child who believed no man would ever want her?

_Because I was broken, damaged goods. I didn't deserve happiness._

That hurtful litany had haunted me after the miscarriages. Rationally I knew it wasn't true, but my reaction had been far from rational. I had been devastated.

The root of that internal voice was smack-in-the-face obvious. Uncle Bartlett, the gift that just kept on giving.

Momma's reaction too. _Sookie's messing around with boys too young, making up nasty stories for attention. _Labelling her peculiar daughter a precocious liar was preferable to losing a babysitter and time alone with my daddy.

If only I'd been like other kids, blissfully ignorant of her opinions and Bartlett's twisted desires. My damn telepathy ruined my innocence far too young.

A moment of clarity jolted me.

I was blaming my telepathy, not the people who hurt me.

Just like momma had.

I'd been doing that for years. When other kids avoided me, pitied me or, worse, taunted me out of fear, I blamed my disability not their small-minded intolerance. Crazy Sookie was a target unless she became Normal Sookie. I'd prayed to fit in, be a regular person. I hated the telepathy, tried to hide it, scrub it away.

Why wouldn't I? I'd learnt to be ashamed of it at my momma's knee. Even Gran's acceptance couldn't undo that.

How long had that particular monkey been riding me?

Too long. Marrying Sam gave me a chance to be 'normal'. Determined not to spoil it, I told Sam I could hardly read his thoughts. Sam encouraged me to try and it was fun at first, but even that turned sour. It was okay to joke around, but if I accidentally overheard him when he didn't want me to, or when we fought, Sam took it as a betrayal.

Just like momma, he couldn't accept my quirk. The last in a long line of rejections, Sam's bit deep.

I gasped, covering my mouth in the darkness.

I'd bitten back. All those fights when I lashed out, recklessly provoking him. That was why. I was angry, so angry, that even Sam, my husband, hated that part of me.

Gran was the only one who'd accepted my telepathy. Even daddy hadn't, although he had once shrewdly asked my opinion of a business deal so he wasn't as disgusted by the idea as momma. But if he suspected I could read minds, why hadn't he tried to help me?

Maybe he didn't want to rock the boat with momma. I wished Gran had told him. If he'd known where it came from, things would have been different for sure. But Gran kept me and everyone else in the dark, ashamed of her adultery with Fintan and unsure how to explain the whole fairy thing. That hurt, even now, that she kept her secrets rather than stepping up for me.

Learning that your guiding light was fallible was a hard lesson, but I should take comfort in it. Much as I loved her, Gran hadn't been perfect. If the best of us made mistakes, I could forgive my own.

And correct them. I vowed I'd never be ashamed of my telepathy again. It was part of me.

…

My strange bout of introspection had unknotted something inside me.

The next morning, Thursday, I threw caution to the wind and decided to take that vacation I deserved. I'd be a fool not to; it was a once in a life time opportunity.

Wynn insisted I was welcome to stay with her, but I decided to go back to the hotel. Niall had reserved a room there for me. I felt guilty accepting his generosity until I reminded myself sternly that he'd missed years of birthdays. The guilt might have won out if he'd stuck around instead of dumping me with strangers. Pleasant strangers, but still strangers.

I called the airline and confirmed my flight home in a week, and then, after checking the time difference twice, I made two calls to Louisiana.

Pam didn't sound surprised to hear from me an hour before dawn her time. I told her when I expected to be home and she offered to have a car meet me in Dallas. I accepted gratefully, and promised we'd have that talk about the guard situation that was six months overdue for her, only days late for me. As I hung up after our mercifully short call, I cringed wondering if the guards had lost income while I was out of town, but it couldn't be helped.

I had to wait a while to call Jason, but I timed it just right and caught him at home. We had a garbled conversation. Already excitable with the approaching full moon, he was ecstatic that I was okay and that I'd be home before Michele was due to give birth. I was pleased as punch to hear it was a girl. Junior was babbling in the background and I got more sense out of Michele once she took the phone. She complained about her aching back, but scolded me when I offered to come home early to help out. She told me to bring back an armful of souvenirs and, with her order to have a wonderful vacation ringing in my ears, I packed up my things, hugged Wynn and headed gleefully to the Rising Sun.

I got the same room. I may have bounced on that gorgeous half-poster bed again, squealing like a kid.

…

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><p><strong>Part 2: Renewal:<strong>

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><p>I spent my first day solo, exploring the harbour and snapping away with the digital camera Dave leant me. He wouldn't accept anything but a hug for it, but I'd insisted on buying my own memory card. Sun was forecast for the week, giving me a cheerful icebreaker to use with everyone I met. Chatting about the weather really was a national pastime. Folk were real friendly to a single girl too, which eased the awkwardness of being alone.<p>

That afternoon I strolled along the seafront nibbling an ice-cream. Some giggling ahead of me caught my attention. Two teenage girls, arm in arm, were chattering away without a care in the world.

I sighed. Tara. We hadn't parted on the best of terms. She'd bawled me out. I'd slapped her. I hadn't spoken to her again before I left, not caring whether I was burning my last bridge with her. I glanced guiltily at the girls in front of me, heads bent to together, whispering secrets.

I hadn't given Tara that recently: unconditional support, no questions asked.

I'd been judgemental of the way she raised her kids. She got overwhelmed, resented the twins at times, but she wasn't a bad mother. I'd been reacting to her thoughts, so painfully like my momma's. Oh, I'd kept my criticisms to myself, but I'd hardly been encouraging. Which was awful; Tara had enough doubts over her parenting skills after her own lousy role models. Lord knew how I'd take to motherhood myself if I was ever blessed with it. It wasn't easy.

Then there was her unhappy marriage. In my heart, I felt JB deserved better.

Trouble was Tara was stained by her past in my eyes, that woman hell-bent on poor choices she'd been. The one who got tangled up with orgies for Eggs and took gifts from Franklin Mott. The one whose butt I rescued from that psycho Mickey, almost a day late and a dollar short.

I didn't trust her moral judgement.

Although I understood exactly why Tara had settled for JB after those jerks, I dismissed her complaints and unhappiness with a cold: S_he m__ade her bed_.

An incredibly hard-hearted attitude when I'd done just the same with Sam. Ironic too, given that I was the one refusing to lay in my bed, not Tara. She wasn't getting a divorce.

Unless JB had found out about _Clive_. I shuddered, recalling Tara's intimate memories of him. Keeping an affair secret around me was no mean feat, but if she didn't think it I couldn't hear it. And Tara was good at hiding things from herself.

Maybe if I'd been more sympathetic...

I sighed irritably. Nope, I wasn't taking responsibility for her mistakes. That was on her.

Not that she'd kept her nose out of my marriage. I was so pissed with her. She'd always had my back, but she took Sam's side every damn time we argued. Why was she so invested in me and Sam? Guilt over her own rocky relationship? Or …

Oh, hell. The wish. Had it influenced her somehow, to keep us together? If it had, I had no idea how to undo that.

No point in fretting about something I couldn't fix. I resolved to be a kinder, more compassionate friend when I got back. If Tara was still speaking to me, that–

A man brushed passed, a blast of his mental chatter startling me.

I looked around. The seafront had filled up, the sun drawing out the crowds, but I wasn't being bombarded mentally. Perplexed, I focused on the nearest person. Nope, my telepathy worked fine if I homed in. So why…

Blood. Eric's blood.

Blood only lasted a few months, but as far as my body was concerned only a few weeks had passed. The effects were still strong. It had certainly kicked my control up a whole notch. Vamp blood always made it easier, but this was a dream. Shielding was so effortless I'd barely noticed I was doing it.

A lot of Eric's blood, then.

Was that significant? It made me uneasy, but I couldn't undo that either, so I chose to view it as a blessing. It would make visiting busy tourist spots easier.

…

Eric hung around in the back of my mind all day. He leapt right to the front of it when I saw someone tall ducking under a low door in the hotel dining room. The old building was centuries younger than Eric, giving weight to how much he'd seen in his long life. I toyed with my evening meal, wondering what the heck he ever saw in a barmaid from backwoods Louisiana.

Seeing him after three years had been a shock, an emotional roller-coaster.

I'd fed him blood without a second thought. I had nightmares about him dying. I'd cried in relief at his recovery. We'd shared a very emotional embrace.

But I second-guessed his every move and assumed the worst motives: He was looking out for his own ass. I was an asset to control with his blood. He was out to provoke Sam.

It was safe to say I had very mixed feelings about Eric.

Pam wanted me to trust him. She made reasonable points about how he'd acted over the whole Freyda debacle and I'd refused point-blank to listen.

Now I'd had time to absorb what she said, I accepted that he hadn't had a choice or much to gain by marrying the stuck-up witch of Oklahoma. That meant I couldn't, in all fairness, continue hating him for choosing to further his own position over staying with me. He hadn't.

I was at a loss as to what to feel instead.

It was water under the bridge, ancient history, I told myself and concentrated on eating, recalling other things Pam had discussed. Sam. My guards. Her parting comment one night that Sam wasn't the reason I'd stopped seeing her.

Oh shoot. I finally got that.

She was right, damn it. Sure, I was wary of her reaction to Sam and I knew damn well Sam would rather I had nothing to do with the vamps, but that wasn't the reason I broke off our friendship.

It was Eric.

She reminded me too much of Eric. I couldn't bear to see her after he left. I looked down at my plate and swallowed hard. The holes he left in my life and my heart had healed over, but the scars still ached.

I'd covered up that ache with bitterness, clinging to the idea that he'd left for power and money. That was why I suspected everything he did when he came back. It was safer.

Because when he left, I lost more than I cared to admit.

…

The next day I opened my door to find Dave with a gorgeous bunch of flowers.

"Sweet peas for a sweet lady," he said, bashfully holding them out. I took them and buried my face in them. They smelt heavenly. Once I settled them in a vase by the window, I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek just to see him blush.

He drove me down to Plymouth, on the south coast, where I stood on the very dock the Mayflower had sailed from and had my picture taken. We visited a museum about the Pilgrim Fathers and Francis Drake, who'd also sailed from the harbour. I gushed over the cobbled streets and the old buildings, taking an album's worth of photos. We ate lunch in a pub and then visited two Elizabethan houses, with leaded windows and wooden beams darkened with age. I brushed away images of Eric in period dress, ducking through the low doorways with that smirk of his, and concentrated on appreciating the history.

On the way back Dave took a detour to a certain inn on a bleak moor, made famous by a Daphne du Maurier novel I'd read as a teenager. I was eager to see if the setting lived up to my imagination.

It did.

Supposedly haunted, the impressive stone building wasn't so bleak in the sunshine, which suited me just fine. I'd had my fill of brooding moors during my otherworldly trip. I wandered around the little museum while Dave regaled me with stories of smugglers and wreckers, secret caves and daring chases across the moors. We had a lovely meal there before the long drive back. I dozed in the back seat, still tired from the fever and that night I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep the second my head found my pillow.

On Sunday, Dave took me down the coast to Tintagel, said to be King Arthur's birthplace. We had a walk to reach it, but when it came into view at the end of a steep-sided valley I was stunned.

It wasn't like my naive idea of Camelot, like a castle in a movie.

Bare stone ruins jutted like broken teeth from a steep windswept island a stone's throw from the shore. It wasn't difficult to imagine it in its heyday, majestic and imposing. The wind whipped white wisps of cloud across the blue sky and the rugged coast was bright and beautiful in the sun. The scene stole my breath.

We checked out the visitor centre, had a picnic in a sheltered spot, and spent the day scrambling over ruins and rocks, exploring caves and splashing in shallow sea water. Plenty of exercise with no time to dwell, just what I needed.

I was exhausted when we got back to the hotel. Dave suggested a shorter trip for the next day and I agreed.

…

I spent Monday in Ilfracombe, with its picturesque harbour nestled between wooded hills and houses painted in merry blues, pinks and greens. It was spring bank holiday, so the place was swarming with day-trippers and I was glad my telepathy was behaving itself. Even so, I was careful not to brush against anyone as I walked around the streets.

I found a café called Adele's. The name seemed prophetic and I went inside, pleased to find a cheerful bustling place serving cheap decent food. I picked a healthy sandwich to balance out all the cream teas and squeezed into a table by the window. As I ate I eavesdropped on the family behind me, whose kids were giggling and talking excitedly about the beach.

The staff were run off their feet. A sullen young woman was wiping tables briskly between customers. I sympathised; it was miserable to be the one working when everyone else was enjoying a holiday. Gazing out the window, I drifted off into thoughts of home and Gran. A noise disturbed me. The poor girl had dropped a fork. It skittered across the floor towards my chair, so I picked it up and held it out to her.

"Wait a second," she snapped, clattering the dishes she was carrying down on an empty table so she could restack them less precariously. A customer with a cut-glass accent asked for ketchup and she nodded tightly at him, muttering under her breath as she stomped off to fetch it.

When she came back, I said in a friendly tone, "It's sure busy today. You must be itching for a break."

She snorted. "Yeah. I bloody well am." Her scowl relaxed and she rubbed her face tiredly. "Look, sorry I snapped. I shouldn't be in today …"

She trailed off and I was surprised to see tears in her eyes. Hastily scrabbling in her apron for a tissue, she quickly wiped her face before picking up the pile of plates and moving towards me.

"Oh honey," I said kindly, "I was a waitress for years. I know it's tough."

She gave me a weak smile and said quietly, "Sorry about that. I … Well, I lost someone close a few days ago and I'm still a mess."

"Oh," I stuttered, taken aback by her confession, so at odds with the happy atmosphere. "Sorry to hear that," I mumbled as she reached for the fork. She stiffened as our fingers brushed, her furious thoughts hitting me like a punch to the gut.

_Sorry? You're not sorry. You didn't know my dad. I wish everybody would stop saying stupid meaningless shit._

She left, muttering a sharp 'thank you' that sounded as hurt as she felt.

I chided myself; I'd felt exactly the same when I lost Gran. Every clichéd condolence at her funeral was another barb, half-hearted words that insulted her memory and made me want to slap–

I stiffened, inhaling sharply.

"_Sorry to hear that."_

I'd trotted out that well-worn phrase recently. I wasn't the only one who reacted badly to it.

Eric.

My insipid reaction to Karin's death.

Oh Lord. A few days earlier I'd used the same phrase for Freyda. Freyda, the conniving witch I held in deep contempt. No wonder Eric had been offended when I'd used the same mechanical phrase for Karin, his vampire child. Probably the closest person to him after Pam.

How would I feel in his shoes, if I'd just lost Jason?

I rewound that conversation and saw it in a whole new light. I'd compounded the insult with a petty jab at him too, calling Karin just another blonde who could fight.

Pam. She hadn't meant to shut me out, talking about Karin, that painting. She was mourning her. Trying to show me Karin was more than the stereotype I'd reduced her to. Pam didn't wear her feelings on her face, but that didn't mean she didn't feel the loss deeply. Karin was dear to her, and Eric, part of their … family, I guessed, or the closest vamps got to one. If I hadn't been so caught up in my own drama...

I'd been appallingly rude to them both.

And Pam was my friend. A true friend deserved genuine condolences for the loss of family, not half-assed Hallmark phrases.

I wasn't proud of the way I'd laid into Pam that night either. It had been a slap upside the head to discover I needed round the clock guards, that my quiet life was a big fat fake. Reeling from that come-to-Jesus, I'd latched onto old issues with Eric and exploded. Pam got caught in the blast. The way she'd bowed her head...

I'd really hurt her. No wonder Eric had snapped. Pam was all he had left.

Sweet baby Jesus, these insights into what a crappy friend I was could just stop already. I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed woodenly, staring out the window blindly as I swallowed.

I had been defensive with Eric too. Protecting myself.

With half a world between us, it was safe to drop those defences and see him with clear eyes.

All the things he'd done when he left that made me so angry... Eric had been in an impossible situation. We both had. I might hate the way he'd chosen to handle it – if Sam had been Mr Right, 'passing me on' to him wouldn't raise my hackles so much – but Eric had been backed into a corner. He hadn't had a lot of options.

He'd done the best he could. He wasn't perfect, just like Gran. I could let the water wash my anger under that damn bridge.

Trust him like Pam wanted? Maybe.

With my safety, at least.

I had to admit, high-handedness aside, Eric had always had my safety in mind. Oh, I'd denied it in the past, accusing him of self-interest over the pledge. Out of irritation mainly. I'd never really nailed his butt over that, letting it lie despite feeling snowed. Perhaps he'd taken that as carte blanche to make decisions for me.

Still, I owed him.

I couldn't be anything but grateful for the guards who'd repeatedly saved my butt. I had protection from half a dozen royal vampires. Eric credited that to my bravery at Rhodes, but I doubted I'd have it without him.

He came to my house to give me his blood when he was severely injured, risking his very existence from Pam's reaction. Disgracefully, I hadn't even thanked him.

I needed to put that right when I got home.

...

My mood was sombre until I met up with Wynn and Dave that evening.

Wynn had invited me to a local village festival. Dave found us a good spot on a sidewalk overlooking the small sandy beach. Wynn nodded to a few people in the crowd around us, all nut-brown and small, all (I checked cautiously) unreadable to me. Just like Wynn, who grinned at me widely and announced, "Here they come, my lovey."

The throbbing drums got louder and the crowd buzzed with excitement as the strange parade came into view. It was chaotic and loud and vibrant. Like a very good-natured, family-orientated Mardi Gras. Minus the beads, nudity and drunkenness. And much smaller, cosier. I let myself get caught up in the atmosphere, blessing my tougher shields.

Dave explained the men in red were the king's redcoats; the guy backwards on the donkey was their prisoner, an Irish rebel. There was a lot of dancing and music as they acted out shooting him, but one of the players, the fool, brought him back to life. Then, dancing to a merry tune, the parade wound down onto the sand below us and the men in red acted out killing him again. And then, just to be sure, they threw him out to sea to catcalls and laughter.

Wynn was calling out excitedly next to me. I joined in, infected with the enthusiasm of the crowd around me. I was buzzed, buoyed up on a wave of strange energy.

On the way back, Wynn told me the re-enactment wasn't strictly accurate. If locals had hunted a man to his death four centuries ago, it wasn't the Earl of Tyrone, who'd escaped safely to Spain. Her accent thickened. "It be an older spring ritual, one these young'uns 'ave long forgot. Thrice killed, that be zummat older than iron."

Wynn's eye gleamed amber in the dusk, a sense of ancient intelligence and fierce glee pouring off her for a second.

Alone in bed, I wondered whether a good Christian should approve of a tradition that diminished the casual brutality of the past, made it safer with laughter. Tamed it.

Wynn's joyful wildness was something else. Whatever she was, I realised I would be sad to see that tamed.

…

On Tuesday Dave promised me the prettiest castle for miles. He brought his four-wheel drive and we took the scenic route over the moors, stopping for me to take pictures of wild ponies with thick coats and sturdy legs, ponies let loose to graze free on the windswept hills.

Hidden in a wooded valley, the castle was more intact than Tintagel, but then it was_ only five centuries old._

Eric's age would be a whole lot less impressive if I'd grown up here surrounded by ruins and ancient festivals.

Passing under the imposing arched gateway, I wandered into a ruined building. Despite the sunshine, it was chilly inside the roofless shell. I ran my hand along the cool stones, wondering who had used this dank basement in years gone by. In the far corner, I got the chills, feeling eyes on my back. No-one was there, but a sense of loneliness and despair enveloped me. I shivered and my breath puffed out as a white cloud.

Spooked, I shot out into the sun. Dave took one look at my face and cheerfully declared, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's haunted?" I squeaked.

"The White Lady walks these ruins," he said in a deep serious voice, then broke into a grin. "Starved to death by her sister in this very spot. Over a man," he added with a wink.

"It's not funny," I snapped.

His eyes widen. "You saw something?"

I looked back at the doorway and shivered. "I …felt something."

He shuffled his feet and mumbled apologetically. "Sorry, Sookie. I didn't know you had the sight. You okay?"

"Just peachy." I turned away, covering my unease. I'd never seen a ghost before. "What's over there?"

Thankfully, Dave dropped the subject and nothing else spectral made itself known the rest of the day. I had Dave stop for groceries on the way back. As my vacation was drawing to an end, I wanted to repay my hosts. I took over Wynn's kitchen and, as promised, treated them to some Southern home cooking.

Wynn's praise was particularly gratifying – she was a great cook herself – and Dave put away so much fried chicken that Wynn cackled he'd be laying eggs in the morning. He flushed beet red, but he made sure I gave Wynn the recipe.

…

Wednesday I spent in a bikini on a glorious beach, sand stretching for miles. I sunbathed lazily, watching surfers and reading my book. It was heaven.

Until one too many couples walked past me holding hands.

The last guy happened to be tall and blond, so Eric leapt to the front of my mind. Again. I sighed and put down my book to stare moodily at the sea.

Meeting Eric was awkward. I felt the loss of our closeness keenly. Seeing him comatose had shaken me and it had been a relief when his sickening injuries were healed.

I hesitated to attach a deeper meaning to those reactions. I'd duped myself into believing I loved Sam after I'd saved his life, I wouldn't repeat that mistake. Rushing to save Eric was just my nature, no more than I'd do for any friend. Obviously I had some lingering … affection for Eric, beyond simple leftover lust for an attractive man I'd known intimately. What exactly that meant was not clear, even with the join gone.

A flood of guilt washed over me. I was still married, I shouldn't be thinking about Eric that way. I winced, remembering the gossip flying round Bon Temps. No, definitely not about Eric.

It was irrelevant anyway.

That last confidence-boosting message he'd sent had a definite air of finality to it: _You're tough, you'll survive. Have a nice life. _Hardly flirtatious. Pam seemed sure he didn't plan to pursue me. That healer was sniffing round him like a bitch in heat, too.

He hadn't even wanted a blood connection to me – that stung, but that was only my wounded pride talking. Nothing more.

He wasn't interested, so why I was wasting a second thinking about … Oh. Could his blood be influencing me even after he severed the connection? I _had_ run straight to Fangtasia…

No, I'd gone to see Pam. I hadn't even known he was there.

I took a deep cleansing breath of salt air, and blew it out slowly. I'd jumped to enough conclusions about Eric. I wasn't going down that road again. I vowed to allow him a clean slate when I saw him again. Wipe the past away.

I spent the rest of the afternoon developing a nice healthy tan and building up an appetite for my first taste of 'fish and chips'. Best eaten out of the paper wrapping, sitting on the harbour wall, according to Dave, who turned out to be perfectly correct. It was delicious.

…

I hugged Wynn tightly and thanked her again for the calming 'tea' tucked away in my suitcase. Shushing me, she saw me into the car. I waved until she was out of sight. We were heading to London a day early because I had a stop planned on the way.

Stonehenge was an anti-climax. I got some good photos, but no-one was allowed to get close to the huge stones. Dave saw my disappointed pout and took me to Avebury instead. It was an odd place, a whole village built inside a stone circle.

Over four thousand years old. Bite that, Northman.

I was fascinated by the enormous ditch ringing the village and the natural, uncut shapes of the stones. I put my hand on one. It was gritty and warm from the sun. A faint hum rose up my arm and the strange vibration warmed me, just like my great-grandfather's kiss. I lifted my hand away slowly, frowning at the stone suspiciously. I rubbed the tingle from my fingers and Dave gave me a curious look.

I shrugged, dispelling my disquiet with a mundane task: shopping. I'd been racking my brain for a gift for Amelia and this was just the place to find one. I browsed the tourist shop, full of New Age crystals and dragon ornaments, and found something perfect for my witchy friend.

I bought Dave lunch as a final thank you for playing chauffeur, before we set off for a cheap airport hotel in London. Dave insisted on taking a room and escorting me to my flight the next morning. Niall's instructions he said, but I suspected it was Dave's idea. We'd developed an easy friendship over the week and I was going to miss him. He was a sweet, shy man. I sure hoped his wife appreciated him.

When we parted at security, I gave him a peck on the cheek and a long hug. He still blushed.

…

The taxiing plane drew my thoughts towards home. My stomach fluttered with eager excitement. I was at another crossroads, a turning point, and I just knew things would be different. Better.

I felt different.

The malign influence of the join was gone and talking to Wynn had exorcised a few monsters from my past. The trip had done me good in a more ordinary way, too. Seeing another part of the world and making new friends had given me confidence, broadened my horizons.

I felt good. Ready to take on the world.

Wynn's parting words rang in my head. "Live well and be merry." Good advice to live by. It brought to mind part of Eric's message: _Make your life your own_. That was good advice too.

I would take this opportunity to break with the past, to overcome the wounds from my childhood. I would build a new life, one that suited the new confident me. Not anyone else.

….

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes:<strong>

1. Sookie is staying in Lynmouth, North Devon, a beautiful area. Wynn is Cornish, apologies for mangling the accent.

2. The Daphne du Maurier novel is Jamaica Inn, which still stands.

3. There really is a café called Adele's in Ilfracombe. I couldn't pass that up!

4. The village with the festival is Combe Martin and the castle is Berry Pomeroy. Not all that pretty as castles go, but it is haunted by a White Lady.

5. The beach is Newquay, lovely place. And Avebury is my favourite stone circle, setting for the deeply scaring Children of the Stones, if anyone remembers that children's TV show from the 70s.


	2. Homecoming

**A/N: **Hi everybody. Thanks for all the favourite and follows, and thanks to those guest reviewers who I can't reply to directly - I appreciate your reviews too.

* * *

><p><strong>Homecoming<strong>

* * *

><p>As the car turned onto Hummingbird Road, I opened the window and sucked in a lungful of air. Hot and heavy, it tasted of home. Margaret Pickard winked at me in the mirror as she drove and Jack Norris turned to grin at me from the passenger seat.<p>

"Good to smell home, ain't it?" he said.

"It sure is," I replied with a small smile.

I turned back to the window, looking for anything that had changed while I was gone. Nope, comfortingly the road was exactly the same. Still in need of resurfacing.

The comfortable Lexus Pam had sent to meet me in Dallas was a blessing after the long flight from England. I was pleased with the company too. I'd met Jack and Margaret a time or two so they weren't strangers. I'd gotten to know them better on the long drive, well enough to ask if they'd been paid while I was away. It relieved my conscience to hear they hadn't suffered financially. They were on some sort of retainer from Pam and had both found temporary work while I was gone – mall security over in Shreveport. Jack said it was real boring. Margaret had laughed at him and said, "Try the army, boy. That's all hurry up and wait."

I got the impression Margaret had taken young Jack under her wing. Turned out he'd only been guarding me because his uncle – a second cousin or half-cousin of Calvin's, Hotshot families were complicated – had got himself into a fight, broken a leg. Jack had been a last minute substitute, at a loose end after he'd lost a job at Norcross, the latest employer he'd fallen out with in a line long for his tender years.

"Don't worry, the packmaster kept an eye on him," Margaret had said as we cruised along the I20 towards Louisiana, nudging him with a smile on her lips. "Brought him a bagged lunch from his momma almost every day."

I reckoned that was how Calvin found out I'd been hurt and took it upon himself to call Sam back from Texas.

"I'm no momma's boy," Jack had muttered, turning to give me an earnest look. "Don't worry, Miss Stackhouse. I won't mess up this time. I like your woods. I hated bein' stuck in that damn mall."

Margaret had added, "Indoor jobs don't work out so well for some of our youngsters."

I'd nodded, indicating I understood the twoey need for space to roam.

As we turned off Hummingbird and onto my familiar gravel drive, my heart lifted. When the house came into view I gasped. Two blond figures waved and hollered excitedly from the front porch, under a large 'Welcome Home' banner. Jason and Junior. The front door opened and Michele waddled out awkwardly, her belly swollen with my niece.

I was out of the car before it pulled to a halt and up onto the porch before I could blink, where I was enveloped in warm embraces and noisy questions. Once the clamour died down, Jason bounded down the steps to take my bags from Jack, who was standing there rubbing his neck uncertainly, reluctant to interrupt our reunion. With Junior still in my arms, I called a thank-you to him and Margaret. They waved it off. Jack flashed me a big grin as he got back in the car.

As the Lexus pulled away, I turned back to my little family and the smell of home-cooking hit me. Michele smiled warmly. "It's great to have you home, girl. Dinner's just about ready."

She waved off my protests that she shouldn't have gone to so much trouble and went back inside to tend the stove. I wiped away a grateful tear, deeply touched by the warm welcome and that Michele had cooked for me in her condition.

Junior insisted he was 'gwowned-up' enough to help Jason carry my bags in. I felt a rush of warmth for him as he wrestled mightily with my carry-on bag, dragging it down the hallway. His determination was adorable. Jason grinned and shook his head at him, giving me another tight hug before he went after him.

Alone for a second, I stood on the threshold drinking in the familiar sights and smells of the house. A deep sense of contentment settled right down to my bones, as if the house itself had wrapped around me, sheltering me from the elements like a familiar winter coat.

I was home.

…

Dinner was noisy, cheerful and delicious. I talked until I was hoarse, eagerly sharing my travel stories. When I paused for breath, Jason or Michele filled the gaps with snippets of Bon Temps gossip: how the football team played this season, who'd gotten married, divorced, given birth or been caught stealing from the Grab-It-Kwik.

Afterwards, like any Aunt fresh from vacation, I gave out presents. A big box of clotted cream fudge for all of them (a local treat that Junior particularly appreciated, soon smeared around his mouth), a pirate outfit complete with eye-patch and wooden cutlass (Junior paraded the living room proudly in it, revelling in the attention much as Jason had done as a kid), a couple of souvenir t-shirts and shot glasses for mom and pop, and a sample of local beers that Dave had recommended for Jason. Those I'd been worried about bring through the airport, but I'd had no problems.

After the third yawn that threatened to unhinge my yaw, Michele herded them both out the door. I stumbled tiredly through a fast shower and fell into my freshly made bed, blessing Michele's efficiency. Sleep took me quickly and if I dreamt it was of smiling faces and good company.

I was up early the next morning, a Saturday. Driven by nerves, I had my case unpacked and a load of laundry finished before nine. I had to see Sam, before word got round I was back, and I had no idea what I'd face.

Neither Jason nor Michele had mentioned Sam the night before. Even when Michele noticed my rings were gone as I ate, she didn't pass comment. I'd avoided the subject myself, unwilling to spoil our happy evening, but now I wished I'd raised it.

I wavered on what to wear, eventually settling on relaxed and comfortable – a pair of well-cut jeans and a smart but not too dressy blue blouse that flattered my eyes. My car started first time. I mentally thanked Jason for keeping it running and drove the familiar route to Merlotte's.

I parked out front, not sure whether I still had back lot privileges. The lot was empty; I'd deliberately arrived before opening time, wanting few witnesses. I could see movement behind the windows. Someone was inside, setting up. Perfect. If it wasn't Sam himself, Kennedy or Terry would know where to find him.

I took some deep breaths before I got out of the car. My luck held. The entrance was already unlocked. The familiar smell of stale beer and last night's food greeted me as I stepped inside. I looked over to the bar and stopped dead, as if I'd stumbled on a cottonmouth.

Sam.

He looked up at the sound of the door with a frown and froze in the middle of wiping down the counter. Penny stopped filling salt cellars and turned to see who'd come in. She gasped, her head swinging back and forth between the two of us comically for a second. Then she squeaked something rushed and shot off down the back corridor like her shoes were on fire, leaving us alone.

The uncomfortable moment broken, Sam glanced down at the cloth in his hand and resumed his steady movements. Outwardly calm, he had closed his mind to me after an initial flare of shock and surprise.

I moved cautiously towards the bar, stopping a few feet away. He was wearing jeans and one of his favourite plaid shirts. His expression was carefully neutral.

Smiling tentatively, I said quietly, "Hi."

His hand tensed around the cloth briefly, but he asked casually enough, "You back then?"

"Yes." To make it clear I'd come as soon as I could I added, "Just last night."

He nodded. I couldn't read him at all. Was he still angry? We looked at each other for a minute, him tightly controlled and me uncertain how to proceed. I guessed it was up to me to start the conversation we needed to have. I squared my shoulders.

"How have you been, Sam?"

Irritation flickered in his eyes and I realised my tone had been too sympathetic. "Fine," he said shortly.

I opened my mouth a few times, trying to hit on the right beginning, something impersonal. "The bar looks good. How's business?"

He gave me a long look and I struggled with a temptation to fill the silence with nervous rambling. After a minute, he said mildly, "Things were tight over the winter."

I cringed. That was my fault. "Of course. I left you short-handed. I'm sorry." He seemed to be waiting for more of an explanation, so I added lamely, "I left in a hurry."

There was a definite note of disapproval in his tone when he spoke. "Uh-huh. Must've been a real rush if you couldn't spare the time to say good-bye."

Chastened by the hurt in his eyes, I swallowed and looked at my shoes. "I'm sorry Sam, I just … I thought it would be easier."

There was another awkward silence. I hated that we couldn't seem to avoid falling into them. Then he sighed. "It probably was," he said quietly.

I looked up, startled by his resigned tone, but he was looking down at his hands where they rested on the bar. "Well, it's all over now," I said thoughtlessly, and then winced at my poor wording. "I mean, everything's back to normal, right?"

"Normal for Bon Temps, I guess." He gave me about quarter of a grin that faded rapidly. "If you're asking if it worked, Ludwig says I'm free of it."

I tried to sound upbeat. "You're back to yourself. That's great, Sam."

"I guess." He dragged his hand through his short hair and set his jaw. He was determined about something. "Sookie. You didn't have to go all that way alone. I would have come with you."

"That's real nice of you Sam, but it was something I had to do by myself." The powerful woman – being? – who'd removed the join only granted me an audience because of my connection to Niall. She wasn't the sort to look kindly on an uninvited plus one.

"But you didn't _have_ to Sookie," he said sharply. "I would have come."

I gave him a meaningful look. "You couldn't go where I was going."

He frowned. "Oh." He wiped the counter a few times, considering that news. "Was it …difficult?"

I was carried back to the smell of rot, cold dark water chilling me to my core. Sam reached out towards me, alarmed at whatever he saw on my face. The movement was enough to shake me out of the memory and he dropped his hand, forehead wrinkling in concern. I pulled together an answer.

"It wasn't easy, no." He didn't need the details. "But I came through it unscathed, see?" I gestured to myself.

Unconvinced he checked me over. His face relaxed, but he was still less than happy. "Well, thank you, I guess." He sounded pained to say it. "Even though I didn't ask you to do it. I would never expect you to put yourself in harm's way for me, Sookie."

"Sam," I admonished softly, reaching over to lay my hand on his. "You know I'd do anything to put things right between us."

His blue eyes held mine for a slow lazy beat, hope beginning to shine in them before he answered just as softly, "Really, Cher?"

I realised he'd misinterpreted me and began scrambling for the right words to dim that hope without crushing him. In the pause, he glanced down at our hands and stiffened.

My left hand. My empty ring finger. Damn. Before I could explain what had happened to my rings, he pulled his hand away. Grabbing the cloth, he turned to the shelves behind the bar and began briskly dusting the liquor bottles.

Reflected in the mirror behind them, his face was set, heavy with resignation that deepened the lines across his forehead and around his mouth. It … aged him. It struck me that the grey threading his hair at the temples was more prominent than when I left, but that had to be a trick of the lighting. It had only been six months.

I longed to hug him suddenly, but that would be the worst thing I could do.

"Sam?" I asked tentatively. "You okay?"

The set of his shoulders tightened. "I'm fine," he muttered. "It's not like I really expected…"

He sighed again and his shoulders slumped. He made an effort to slow his hands in their task, his movements switching from agitated to calming. Once he'd collected himself, he glanced over his shoulder and in a fairly even voice asked, "So, what are your plans? Any idea what you're going to do for work?"

"I haven't really thought." I looked around the bar, wondering if he needed me for this shift. Oh. Wait. I said slowly, "I guess … I guess it would be better if I didn't work here?"

He shot me a look in the mirror. "Yeah, I think that would be for the best."

"Yes. Of course." A trickle of panic ran down my spine. I'd worked at Merlotte's for almost ten years and didn't know much else. I'd be okay financially for a while, though. Maybe I should look at those college courses again.

Sam turned around, running the cloth over the bottle in his hand slowly. "Norcross is hiring and there's bound to be a store needing someone in town. Or a diner wanting a waitress."

I bit back the urge to say I could do better than that. He was trying to help. "Sure, I'll look around." I changed the subject. "So, did I miss anything exciting while I've been gone?"

He looked away. "Things have been quiet."

"Uh-huh." He was hiding something. I asked casually, "You haven't had any trouble? The sort those guys in my woods deal with?"

"Nope. Like I said it's been quiet." He hesitated for a second, but finally added, "Eric's still around."

Confused by the oddly kind expression Sam wore, out of habit I brushed against his mind without intending to. I pulled back quickly. The vivid image of Eric striding into the bar had me half turning towards the door, as if he was likely to be marching in right then, in broad daylight.

Flustered that Sam had seen my absurd reaction, I blurted out, "Here? He's been here?"

Sam grimaced, working out I'd picked something out of his head, but he refrained from commenting on the intrusion. "He stopped by a couple times, yes."

My eyes narrowed and I asked sharply, "Why? Has he been causing you trouble?"

Sam dropped his eyes to the bottle he was still absent-mindedly dusting. "No. No, he's been … decent, considering."

I opened my mouth to say I highly doubted that and to ask considering what exactly, but just then a breezy female voice floated in from the back corridor, calling his name.

"Sam? You there? Are you free to...?" The voice trailed off as its owner came into the bar and saw me.

She was a smartly dressed woman in her early thirties, with an athletic build and a healthy tan. She was pretty, with an open face and pleasant colouring, warm hazel eyes complementing her auburn hair. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't realise the bar was already open."

Sam finally stopped pretending to dust and put the bottle down to introduce us. "Steph, this is my wi– Sookie. Sookie, this is Stephanie Burrows."

Stephanie's eyes widened. "Oh. Sookie. Pleased to meet you at last."

She took a step forward and held out her hand, shooting Sam a glance. She had a firm grip and a hard warning blazed in her pretty eyes. She was protective, very protective of Sam. I got that clearly from her snarly mind. Pieces clicked into place and I did my best to keep my face fixed in a smile even as I pulled my hand away like I'd been burnt. She bristled and I realised I hadn't replied, which was unpardonably rude.

"It's nice to meet you too, Stephanie," I said in my politest voice, keeping my shock hidden.

She shot another glance at Sam. "I'll leave you to it, then. The figures are on your desk, Sam."

"That's great, Cher. Thanks for all your help."

Cher? I snuffed out a flare of jealousy with a stern attempt at rational thought.

I'd been gone for six months. I'd given Sam my blessing to move on in the good-bye letter I wrote. I could hardly complain that he'd found someone to replace me as bookkeeper and possibly in ... other areas.

Cattily, I wondered how she'd feel if she knew that not two minutes before she showed up with her pretty face and her sleek haircut, Sam had jumped at the chance to start over with me.

Stephanie looked me over one last time before turning on her heel and leaving the way she came. I watched her go, wondering if she was the reason Jason and Michele had been cagey about mentioning Sam to me.

Sam cleared his throat. "There's been a few changes around here, Sook."

"So I see," I said drily. I turned back to him and said briskly, "It's okay, Sam. You don't owe me an explanation."

"It's not like that, Sook. She's just a colleague."

Colleague, not employee? Not that I was burning to ask or biting back something sharp and corrosive about him moving on so fast. No sirree.

I reminded myself again that he'd had a whole six months to get over me. Whereas I was obviously still stuck in the raw stage of our break-up.

"It's really none of my business, Sam."

"But it is. You still own a third of this place." He gestured to our surroundings, but his expression clouded. "I guess you'll want out of that, though."

Oh. If he wasn't comfortable with me working here, it was going to be mighty awkward running the bar together. It was probably better to end my short career as a business owner. I sighed. "That's going to be complicated, isn't it?"

He shrugged and tried to joke. "I'll have my lawyer call your lawyer."

I winced. He reached out and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

"I'm real sorry about all this, Sam."

"I know. It's what you want though, isn't it? A divorce?" He studied my face.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Yes. I think that would be for the best."

He searched my eyes for another few seconds and then nodded. "Okay, Sook. You should call Mr Cataliades today, get the ball rolling. No point dragging it out."

"No, I guess not." Both our voices were filled with regret.

He gave a lopsided grin. "Easier to mend a clean break. Quick and clean."

I nodded. "Yeah. Quick and clean."

Then perhaps our friendship would heal.

…

I sat on the porch drinking some of Wynn's tea, recovering from the tense conversation. It had been emotional facing Sam, and I was a little wrung out. But the worst was over and seeing him actually hadn't been that bad. I wasn't going to mope over the attractive bookkeeper or whatever the hell else she was to him.

Tea finished, I headed off to Wal-Mart, got all my vacation pictures printed out and picked out a pair of pretty albums for them. Waiting at the register, I got a sharp glance or two from the young cashier. I didn't recognise her. Curious, I dipped into her head: … _that poor man, she just up and left him... _

I stiffened and smiled tensely as I paid.

I walked quickly away, kicking myself for prying. I expected some criticism, and for every red-blooded single woman in Bon Temps to cluck over Sam sympathetically, but I just wasn't quite ready to hear it. My time overseas, where no-one knew who I was, had relaxed me a little too much.

I swung by the library on the way home. I picked up a stack of new books and was very careful not to read Barbara Beck's thoughts at the desk. I chose to believe that her pursed lips were down to her reliving unpleasant memories of the time she was held at knife point in front of me, right there in the library. By a guy after me, as it happened, so she was entitled not to think too fondly of me.

Barbara made overly-polite but stilted small talk about my choices as she checked out my books. When I carelessly mentioned that I'd picked out the Daphne de Maurier novel because I'd recently visited the inn in the title, the sharp disapproval in her eyes and the set of her mouth revealed her opinion of me with no need to resort to telepathy.

I was a selfish bitch who deserted my husband to live it up in Europe for six months.

I guessed telling the Sheriff where I was going before I left was as good as taking out a full page advert in the Shreveport Times.

…

I spent the afternoon finishing off my laundry and sunbathing in the back yard while it dried on the line. Michele, bless her, had stocked up on groceries and the house was spotless, so there was little else for me to do. Jason had even kept up with the weeding. At least I hoped it was Jason, not his heavily pregnant wife.

Eventually, the jet-lag caught up with me and I fell asleep in the sun. I woke later, groggy and with a stiff neck. The sky had clouded over and I was a little chilled. I warmed up by fetching the dry laundry inside, sorting and folding and putting it all away.

Sometime later, after I'd eaten a light dinner of Michele's leftovers and settled in the front room with a book, the bell by the front porch steps rang. The bell Sam had hung, I remembered sadly as I put my book down. I reached out mentally before I got to the door and frowned when I sensed a void.

It was too early for Pam, barely quarter of an hour after sunset.

I expected Thalia or one of the vampire guards she'd introduced before I left. So when I checked the peep-hole, I was surprised to see Bill Compton standing at the bottom of my steps. I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, still within the ward.

"Bill, this is a surprise. I haven't seen you in a coon's age. Is everything okay?"

He smiled, his face pale and luminescent in the shadows at the edge of the porch light, and spoke in that smooth deep voice. "Good evening, Sookie. Nothing is amiss. I saw your lights and came to welcome you home."

"Oh, that's mighty neighbourly of you, Bill." I moved to the front of the porch and leant against the railing, trying not to notice how handsome he looked tonight, in khakis and a dark polo, his dark hair brushed and gleaming. "How've you been?"

He turned towards me, his dark eyes glittering in the warm light spilling from the window. "I'm well, thank you. I hear you took a trip to Europe. Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, very much. I spent some time in England, in the southwest. Have you been there?"

"No, not England. Travelling that distance has been rather … awkward in the past. I did visit Rome briefly, two years ago, but sadly for me that was a business trip and I did not have time to see the sights."

"Oh. That's a real shame." I began to wonder what Bill wanted. He hadn't called by the house for years. Certainly not just to chat. Lately we hadn't chatted even when we met at Merlotte's or around Bon Temps. Maybe he was a little lonely? I didn't think he'd had a special someone since Karin. I hadn't heard Danny mention any regular visitors to the Compton house.

"Yes, I would have liked to see some of the architecture." His dark eyes didn't leave my face for a moment. "I was sorry to hear that Sam moved out."

I shifted uneasily. "These things happen, Bill." I didn't really want to go into details, not with an ex. It was disrespectful to Sam.

"Yes. But I thought …" His voice softened. "I had hoped that you would be happy together."

"Well, like I said, these things happen." There was a hint of annoyance in my tone. I changed the subject decisively. "How's the house? I heard you had contractors in a few months back." Jason had mentioned it in passing.

Bill blinked, which was the vampire equivalent of shocked. He hadn't expected me to know that. "Yes. Some repair work. Nothing serious."

"Glad to hear it." Hmm. That seemed a little evasive, but what Bill did with his property was none of my business. I took a deep breath of the warm night air.

Bill turned to look at the woods. "It's a lovely night tonight. In fact I was out enjoying a stroll when I noticed your lights." He sounded a little wistful and I remembered a particularly pleasant walk we'd shared on another moonlit night, at a more innocent point in our relationship.

"Yes, it is lovely tonight." There was a touch of nostalgia in my voice, too.

"Would you care to join me?" He glanced up at me, his face neutral.

I hesitated and in that second Bill stiffened. Confused, I frowned at him and then looked up when I caught the glow of headlights flickering between the trees. A car was coming down the drive.

"You seem to have a visitor." Knowing Bill as well as I did, the tense line of his jaw betrayed his irritation with the interruption, even though his words were calm.

'So I do."

We watched the station wagon pull up. Kennedy emerged from it and cast a confused look at Bill. Then she beamed at me.

Bill turned to me and gave a deep nod. "I will leave you to your guest. Goodnight, Sookie."

"Goodnight Bill."

Kennedy gave him another strange look as they passed on the gravel, as I muttered a hasty invitation under my breath. Then she bounded up the stairs and hugged me. "Sookie! You're back!"

"Hey, let a girl breathe Kennedy!" Her thoughts were a rush of relief and warmth.

She laughed as she let me go. "Sorry, Sook. Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes." She looked me up and down, narrowing her eyes. She wagged her finger at me. "You look well. Shame I just got a manicure or you'd get a whooping for leaving without a word!"

"Oh Lord, Kennedy I didn't mean–"

"Hush girl. I'm not angry. You did what you had to. Now what's a girl gotta do to get a cold drink around here?" She grinned at me.

I grinned back. "Come inside, Kennedy."

We sat at the kitchen table with some iced tea and I grabbed a stack of photos to show her. We laughed at my bad camera work and shared gossip. Penny had gotten herself a new beau. A guy from Clarice almost as shy as she was, Kennedy said, but they were sweet together.

After we ran out of idle chatter, she asked cautiously where I stood with Sam. I was glad I had some warning of the question from her face and I grazed her thoughts to check that I sounded appropriately regretful but composed as I told her we were done apart from the divorce papers.

She'd expected that and squeezed my arm in sympathy. She changed the subject fast, telling me about Terry's latest litter of puppies. I was relieved; she understood I didn't want to dwell on it.

When I asked how the bar had been, Kennedy looked a little uncomfortable.

"Well, things were rough over the winter, of course. Sam made some changes and that ruffled a few feathers. You know how folks get."

"Uh-huh. I met the new bookkeeper this morning."

"Oh, Steph's been a big help to Sam. She's a godsend." She paused, surprised by my doubtful expression. Then her eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, there's nothing going on there, Sookie. They're just friends. Sam … well, let's just say he's not ready to move on." _He needs closure before he can do that and he couldn't get that while you were away._

I wasn't convinced, having felt Stephanie's reaction to me, but Kennedy believed what she was saying so I let it go.

She toyed with her cup for a minute and then looked up with a sly expression. "I was surprised to see Bill here, though. Apart from visiting the Bellefleurs now and then, Danny said he mostly keeps to himself around Bon Temps these days."

"Yeah. He hasn't come to the house for years." About three, in fact. Since he found out I was marrying Sam.

Kennedy gave me her best innocent look, batting her eyelashes. "Well, I reckon he wasn't borrowing a cup of sugar."

"No," I said slowly. "I don't know what that was all about."

Kennedy snorted.

"What?"

"Honey. An ex comes a-calling the minute the husband moves out. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Oh." I didn't know how to respond to that, having assumed that Bill had moved on after he got all cosy with Karin and then dropped out of my life. I was simultaneously uneasy and flattered that he might still think of me that way.

Kennedy stayed for a while longer. After she left, I stood at the sink staring out at the dark woods thoughtfully. I'd picked up a few things from her that she hadn't said out loud. The bar had been in some trouble, but I couldn't make sense of it. Kennedy had been trying not to think about it, not wanting to make me feel guilty. I'd caught a glimpse of Terry in a state, stressed out. The cook, Marcel, quitting in a tantrum. And Kennedy's sheer relief when Stephanie arrived.

I sighed. That was a problem to think on tomorrow. I had another to solve in the next hour, before the vampire I _was_ expecting arrived.

Pam rolled up at ten sharp, dressed in a black business suit that said 'don't mess with me', combined with a soft pink silk camisole and heels that said 'I'm so scary I can be feminine and you still won't dare mess with me'. I was envious of her ability to pull that off.

If her theory held – that clothes revealed to the world and his wife what the wearer subconsciously projected – I suspected that my worn jeans and ratty t-shirt screamed jobless, soon-to-be husbandless and clueless about where my life was heading.

I showed Pam into the living room and warmed a blood for her. When I joined her, she'd kicked off her shoes, her jacket hung on the couch and she'd taken her hair out of its neat French plait. I was secretly pleased that she felt at ease with me, enough to take off her costume and be herself.

She took the blood and sipped it politely before setting it down. She eyed me speculatively. "You look well. I take it your trip was a success and the fairy magic is gone."

"Yep. Everything's fine and dandy."

"And your marriage?"

Her silent mind and smooth expression gave no warning of the blunt question. I caught my face before it fell all the way to dismayed and held my voice steady with an effort. "We're divorcing."

"Ah. I see." I kicked myself for showing my vulnerability, but then Pam did something unexpected. She patted my hand. "I am sorry that it distresses you, my friend. But it is what you want?"

"Yes, it is. Thanks, Pam." I was touched. A pat on the arm from Pam was as supportive a gesture as sharing a tub of ice-cream and an evening of weepy chic flicks from a human girlfriend. Thinking about the divorce, I recalled the strange supe rules about spouses. "Um, will being single cause any problems with my protection?"

She shrugged. "It will be easier for me. I prefer to deal with you directly, not the shifter. Can Amelia remove him from the wards or do they need to be re-done?"

"Oh. I'll ask her and let you know." I made a note to call my witchy friend soon. Anticipating that would be an uncomfortable conversation, I remembered another awkward social duty: my intention to thank Eric for saving my life. Multiple times.

Feeling slightly guilty I said, "Thank you for keeping me safe, Pam. I really do appreciate it."

She shrugged. "No biggie, as they say."

"I really need to thank Eric, too. Where is he tonight?"

"Indiana."

"Oh." I'd have to write a note. So much for steeling myself to say thank-you in person.

Of course, there was no reason to assume he would still be in Louisiana.

Pam was running Area 5 and even if she wasn't I suspected the last place Eric wanted to be was back under de Castro's thumb. Eric had once told me he didn't enjoy being overseen, and de Castro had certainly kept a watchful eye on him.

Eric wasn't cut out to be a run-of-the-mill vampire, either. I couldn't see him staying in Shreveport as an underling.

If he wanted a position with some power, another sheriff post perhaps, he'd have to move. Indiana was probably as good a choice as any. Bartlett Crowe seemed reasonable from my limited interactions with him. As far as vampire kings did reasonable, anyway. Was there a civilised waiting list for sheriff posts or was it finally-dead-man's boots? I didn't know.

Then I remembered something. "Sam said Eric dropped by the bar."

"Yes. A while ago. March sometime, I think. Rory mentioned it."

I tried not to look too interested. "She's still around?"

"Yes. Actually, she's been quite … useful," Pam admitted grudgingly. "She even agreed to go to Indiana with him."

Oh. He'd taken her with him? That was … unexpected.

Pam carried on before I could think about that too hard. "So, what do you want to do about your guards?"

I sighed. "What I really want is not to need them. But as I do, I want to be involved. I want to know what's going on and have a say in it. And I don't want to be beholden to anyone, Pam. Not even you. I would like to take over paying for them, but I'm not real sure of my finances. Not until everything's sorted out with Sam."

She narrowed her eyes. "Sookie, this is a considerable expense. Eric will not expect you to bear it."

I stiffened, my pride bristling. "Pam. I'm real grateful to Eric for setting all this up, but it's not his responsibility."

"Actually, it–"

"No," I said firmly. Eric – who'd moved to another state, moved there with another woman apparently – was suddenly the last person I wanted to owe for this. "There's nothing between us and no need for him to be involved. He's done enough."

"Sookie. He is well placed to protect you from our kind. It would be foolish not to accept his help."

I gave her a level look. "Pam. I hardly need his help with all those royal decrees." If they were worth the fancy parchment they were written on, that was.

She frowned – well, a tiny crease formed on the bridge of her nose, which was tantamount to a scowl for Pam – and opened her mouth to argue.

Claudine's warning that Rhodes would draw me further into the undead world came to me and I ploughed on with my reasoning before she could speak. "It isn't Eric's problem. _I_ chose to go to the summit with Sophie Ann. _I_ crawled through the rubble in front of the cameras saving y'all. That was what drew every fanged Tom, Dick and Dracula's attention to me. My choices, my actions. Not Eric's."

Pam shook her head. "Not all of the things that drew unwelcome attention were your doing. Eric bonded and pledged to you. His interest in you is widely known. He will argue you are still a target because of him. At least in part."

"Pfft. That's old news." I waved dismissively. Moving to Indiana certainly showed he had no ties holding him here. I wondered darkly how quickly Sam would move on, if he hadn't already.

"Vampires have long memories."

Putting aside my speculations on the inconstancy of men, I changed tack.

"Well, vamps aren't the only jackasses out there who want to hurt me, are they? I don't see how Eric can argue that all the others are anything to do with him." I ticked them off on my fingers for her. "The fairies want to use me to get at Niall. Those Weres who tried to kidnap me bear me a grudge because I helped Longtooth out. And the Chosen came after me while I had no contact with any of y'all. They targeted me because I married Sam. Not one of those is Eric's responsibility."

Pam sat back, thinking. "Hmm. You make a good case. He might just accept that."

"He'll have to, won't he?"

Pam raised an eyebrow at me.

"Well," I said slowly, "You said Sam had to give permission for the guards to come onto the land here. It'll be my land again once the divorce is done. You'll need my permission."

"You'd refuse your own guards just to win an argument?" Pam chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Sookie. You really are my favourite breather."

When my stubbornness stopped amusing her, we got down to it and hammered out a compromise that wouldn't bankrupt me. Each month I would pay as much as I could into the pot for the day guards. Pam would make up the difference, pay for equipment, sundry extras, the vampire guards and Diantha if she was needed. I agreed to that more readily once Pam pointed out that she could order the vamps to guard me for free and Diantha had volunteered her time in the past.

Pam or Thalia would keep me updated once a week, and I'd give them a head's up if I planned any out of state trips. I was a little put out to discover they'd been tracking my car and phone electronically.

Pam pointed out that it actually made the guards less intrusive if they could follow me without needing a detailed itinerary of every minute of my day, and the electronic tracking was partly why I hadn't noticed them in the last couple years.

I grumbled, "That was only because that damn sneaky witch helped you hide their minds from me."

Pam snickered at my irritation. I didn't find being hoodwinked so amusing.

"I'll draw up some official paperwork for the money side of it all," Pam said. Then her phone rang. She looked at the screen and grimaced. "Sorry, I have to take this."

She blurred out into the hallway and I tried not to listen to her pacing or her clipped answers. It sounded like trouble. She came back a moment later, clearly annoyed. She pulled on her jacket and slipped on her heels. "Fucking Saturday nights. Sookie, I have to go. I'll be in touch."

"Sure, Pam. Thanks for coming out here tonight."

She nodded and left in a blur. I let out the yawn I'd been holding in and stretched lazily. The jet-lag was still messing with me, so even though it was barely eleven I shut up the house and turned in for the night feeling somewhat more in control of my life.

...


	3. Welcome Wagon

**A/N:** Hi all - thanks for all the reviews and comments everybody. They make my day! Another Friday, another chapter.

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><p><strong>Welcome Wagon<strong>

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><p>I slipped into the back of the church right as the service started, drawing as little attention to myself as possible.<p>

I had missed attending church while I was on 'vacation'. I was determined to reconnect with my faith, but I knew my reappearance in Bon Temps would cause a stir. From the reactions at Walmart and the library, folks would be surprised and judgemental. I couldn't blame them, from the outside it sure seemed like I had run out on Sam. I steeled myself to weather the initial shit-storm, confident that it would blow itself out after a few days.

I concentrated on the sermon and let it ground me. Eric's blood was reinforcing my shields by an unprecedented amount. Had I crossed some sort of line with vamp blood and amped up my telepathy to a whole new level? I wasn't sure how to feel about that until the service ended and folks began to move.

A few pairs of eyes widened in recognition, a few heads turned. Then the dam broke. Whispers began to whip through the congregation like a rain storm lashing a tin roof.

Suddenly I was extremely thankful I could only hear what was being said aloud.

I held my head high and made my way over to the Reverend, who was shaking hands by the door. Outwardly he was pleased to see me, grasping my hand warmly when it was my turn. Unfortunately, touch short-circuited even the strongest mental shields and a wash of his disappointment and censure rolled over me.

I pulled back abruptly, covering with a crazy grin, but he noticed. Stiffly, he welcomed me back to the parish and turned immediately to the next person in line.

Kicking myself, I stepped out into the sunshine. Being taken unawares was a disadvantage of stronger shields, but I should have anticipated his reaction. He'd married me and Sam a few short years ago; he was bound to be dismayed that our marriage had faltered so soon.

Sighing, I headed off to the side, where the crowd gathering outside was thinner. Halleigh Bellefleur smiled at me, but made no move to come over. Andy glanced at me from her side and then steered her over to talk to one of the Sunday school teachers. Predictably, Maxine's stage whisper carried from where she stood talking animatedly to two of her buddies, but thankfully I couldn't make out her words. A few sharp looks my way made it clear enough that I was her subject.

A few minutes alone feeling like ant under a magnifying glass and I was about ready to call it quits. Then Holly Fortenberry came right over, bold as brass.

She'd toned down her appearance since she married. Her hair was back to its natural brown these days, not the harsh bottle black of her rebellious youth. Being a Wiccan, she only came to church to support Hoyt or, in other words, to shield him from Maxine's nagging tongue.

Holly was scowling, but her face brightened as she reached me. "Hey, Sookie. How are you?"

"Hi Holly. I'm good, how are you?"

"Oh, just fine. You sure look good, but if I was in your shoes I'd be madder than a wet hen." She snorted. "Some welcome home, huh?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I didn't expect it to be quite this bad." I eyed Maxine's enthusiastic gestures. "I'll understand if y'all don't want to be seen talking to me."

She saw who I was looking at and shrugged. "Makes no difference. Her tongue's always been loose at both ends."

I almost smiled. "I wouldn't want you to catch a lashing from it on my account."

She smirked. "Oh, she can't touch me. Hoyt's been real protective, gave her a tongue lashing himself last time she started in on me." At my confusion, she turned side on to me, tugging her dress tight.

"Oh!" She was pregnant, barely showing yet. I plastered on another tight smile and congratulated her.

We chatted for a good while about nothing in particular and a few other souls found the courage or curiosity to come over to greet me. Eventually folks began drifting home, making it harder to ignore one particular congregation member who'd been persistently glaring at me from the other side of the crowd. Holly noticed too and made to stay, but I shooed her over to Hoyt, who gave me a friendly wave as they left with Maxine.

I turned to face the one friend who hadn't come over to welcome me home.

Arms crossed defiantly, Tara looked about ready to spit tacks. JB fidgeted anxiously next to her, until she snapped at him and he took the twins over to the play area, casting a sheepish smile of apology in my direction.

I waited for her to come to me.

And while I waited, I read her mind.

She opened her mouth to speak but I held up my hand.

"First, I'm sorry I slapped you. Second, I swear I'll never tell JB." Her eyes widened, and then narrowed as she grasped what I'd done. "Third, you were right. I was judging you six ways to Sunday in my head and I thought that was okay because you couldn't hear it. But you know what? You judge me just as harshly, Tara Thornton. And I can hear it, every nasty bit of it. I didn't cheat on Sam. I didn't throw him out. He chose to move out, because he was devastated after he hurt me. And I don't mean with that stupid kiss. He lost his temper and laid hands on me, Tara. That's why him and Jason were brawling. That's why Kenya kept Sam in jail overnight. Out of concern for me."

Her jaw fell, slack. I waited and listened while her mind scrambled to absorb that bombshell.

She'd confronted Jason about the fight after I left – I saw that amongst her jumbled thoughts. Tara tore strips off him for causing trouble and refused to listen to anything he said. Not that he'd said much before Michele intervened and sent Tara packing. Tara hadn't spoken to either of them since, so she had no idea why Jason was pissed at Sam. Sam might have told her, but for some reason I didn't see hide nor hair of him in her mind.

I waited for her to formulate a response. What she said next would determine whether we could still be friends.

"I … I had no idea. Sam hit you?"

"He damn near broke my arms and 'bout rattled the teeth out of my head shaking me. He was a whisker from going Animal Planet on me, too."

She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. I waited for her shock to fade, for her to defend him, to be let down again.

She began to pace, muttering. "I can't believe it. Not Sam. How could he? It don't make any sense." She got a hold of herself and asked suspiciously, "Something stinks like week old trash. There's more to this, isn't there?"

With trepidation, I read her. She was shocked and in denial. To be fair, that had been my first reaction too. In her favour, she _was_ waiting on my explanation before she decided which way to jump.

"Yep," I admitted. "Sam wasn't himself. Supe stuff. Neither of us have been ourselves for a while."

"Uh-huh. Why did you run off like that? Without saying a word to me?"

I shrugged. "We weren't exactly speaking Tara. I had to go."

She scowled. "Was it–"

"No," I snapped, reading her all too clearly. "It wasn't anything to do with Eric or vampires. Sheppard of Judea Tara, that right there is you being a judgemental bitch. I went away to fix what was wrong with Sam."

A spark of understanding flashed in her eyes, but distracted by my own indignation I missed the cause. "You were helping Sam heal?"

I nodded absently, focusing on her thought processes. I wanted to know if my wish had changed her, made her fight so hard to keep Sam and me together. If it had, she might never be the same. Breaking the join did just that; as I understood it, it didn't change any of the rest of it.

"So …" she said cautiously, "are you guys gonna work things out?"

I shook my head. I wasn't reading anything except a strange yearning from her. Not that I had a clue what I was looking for anyway, but I expect something more … dramatic.

"But he's a good guy, Sookie. A great guy. Why would you–"

I cut her off, figuring I had nothing to lose by asking her directly. "Tara, I just got done telling you he got physical and you're right back to defending him. Why do you stick up for him no matter what?"

She shifted uneasily. "I just want what's best for you, Sook. You said he wasn't himself."

She was hiding something, a whole lot of somethings deep in the background, buried under her surface thoughts. I pushed her. "Tara, that right there is the problem. We can't be friends if you keep taking his side over mine."

Tara stiffened. "I'm not taking his side! I'm trying to get you to see sense. I don't want you mixed up in that bullshit world again."

We were getting warmer. "Sam is part of that world."

She folded her arms. "No, no he ain't. He's not like the vamps. He's a regular guy."

"Like JB?" I hit back, hoping to push her off balance so I could get to the roots of her motives. "Plain old human JB, dumb as a box of rocks."

"You're just pissed I got to him first," she spat, furious.

With the rush of anger, her mind opened and I got it all. Images and emotions flashed one after another, leaving me dizzy.

I wanted to say so much to her. I wanted to tell her: _You're lying to yourself. _

_JB isn't enough for you, but you think he's all you deserve._

_Your momma broke you inside, all those times she hit you, called you trash. You soaked it up like a sponge. Everything you do is to cover up that hole, that pit of doubt she dug inside you. Clinging onto Eggs, when his tastes in bed left you feeling violated and worse than trash. Almost losing the store over Franklin, chasing that thrill that made you feel alive, feel like you were worth something, worth all those expensive gifts. Mickey._

_Then you settled for JB and a vanilla lifestyle with no excitement to lift you out of that pit. Miserable, bored to tears, guilty you aren't happy; you think don't deserve what you have and it's going to fall apart any minute. You want me in the same hell, stuck with Sam, because you're afraid I'm better than you, that I might leave this town and never look back. Get all the excitement and success you crave for yourself._

_You're trapped, so you want to keep me trapped too. Keep me here with you. You're scared to lose your closest friend. The only person who understands everything you've been through. The only one who knows the real you._

But I didn't say any of that. It would be spiteful, it would hurt her and it wouldn't change a thing. I couldn't fix her.

It all made sense though, fitted with Tara's past, the person she was. She'd always been objective about the men in my life before. Before she'd married JB. She wasn't with Sam, after.

I couldn't be certain the wish hadn't screwed with her, but it hardly mattered. I couldn't fix that either. All I could do was try to salvage our friendship. But it took two to tango, so she would have to meet me halfway or it would never work.

So that's what I said, blinking hard to clear the tears blurring my vision.

"Tara. We can't be friends if you keep pushing Sam at me when I'm miserable with him." I softened my voice. "I miss the sensible Tara that listened to me and my crazy problems without judging. The one that had my back."

There were tears in her eyes and mine. She looked at me for a long minute, before she spoke quietly.

"That cuts both ways. I miss the Sookie that told me I'd make a good mom with real confidence. I don't know if I can stand to be around the one that looks down her nose at me any longer. I know it hurts because you and Sam never … and I got the twins easy as falling off a greased log. But that isn't my fault."

She added fiercely, "And if you get involved in more crazy-ass supe shit, I don't want to know. I'm a mom now. I can't do that again."

She meant that. She didn't want to get involved. She just wanted something, something more exciting than what she had.

"Oh, Tara," I sighed out gently. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I don't want to lose you."

"Yeah. I'm sorry too. I don't want to lose you either. But I don't know if," she swallowed, "if we can be friends like we used to be. I'll try, but no promises."

I nodded, a tear spilling down my cheek. "Okay. We'll take it slow. See you around, Tara."

"You too, Sook."

We didn't hug. I walked away quickly, head down. When I pulled out of the lot, I glanced in the mirror. Tara was standing where I left her, staring at the ground with her arms wrapped around herself.

…

I tried to stay optimistic about the whole Tara issue.

The sky clouded over while I was eating lunch, which did nothing to alleviate my pensive mood. It wasn't just Tara weighing on my mind. I had to make some calls I'd been putting off.

Disappointingly, Amelia wasn't answering. I left her a message saying I was home and asking her to give me a call back. With that done I sighed heavily. I'd hoped for a delay, even if it was only a stilted conversation with Amelia. Steeling myself, I rang the second number.

"Hello? May I speak to Mr Cataliades please?"

"This is Desmond Cataliades."

"Oh, hi Mr C. It's Sookie. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. And yourself? I heard you had returned to this realm."

Oh. Niall. The supe world sure was a small one. "I'm fine, thanks for asking," I replied automatically. "Sorry to disturb you at the weekend but I, um, need to talk to you about a legal matter."

"I see, one moment." I could tell he was moving around. "Go ahead, we have privacy."

"Thanks. I spoke to Sam yesterday and, well, we both agreed a divorce would be for the best."

"Ah. My condolences." His genuine sentiment took me aback and I stuttered a thank-you. "I take it you wish me to represent you?"

"Yes, if you're still okay with that."

"Of course, and let me assure you I will make things as smooth and pleasant as possible, given the circumstances."

"Thank you, I'm real grateful for your help."

He explained what I needed to do before we met with Sam and his lawyer. If Sam and I came to an agreement, filing the papers with the courthouse and getting the final decree would be a formality as we'd been separated so long already.

I could be divorced in under a fortnight, a time line that made me feel hollow.

I was surprised that Mr C already knew who represented Sam legally – Frank Hughes, a younger lawyer who'd taken over from Sid Matt when he retired – but apparently when Merlotte's had been in some trouble over the winter Mr C had gotten involved on my behalf. He promised to fill me in on that when we met. I didn't want to take up too much of his weekend so I let it drop, feeling uneasily like I'd missed something as I hung up.

…

I pottered around the house for a while, before deciding grey skies or not I needed some time outdoors. I was dressed in old sweats, halfway through digging some fertilizer into the flowerbeds when a vaguely familiar SUV appeared.

I wiped my hands on my sweats as the car pulled up, realising belatedly whose it was. Sam's sister Mindy was driving and Bernie, his mom, sat in the passenger seat.

Just peachy.

They got out, Bernie's face set hard as concrete and twice as ugly. Mindy was wringing her hands and frowning, torn between disapproval and anxiety. The whole scene gave me a vivid sense of déjà-vu. It was eerily like the time Mamma Quinn and Frannie turned up to berate me for splitting up with Quinn.

I hoped this encounter would go the same way. A few harsh words exchanged, a fleeting awkwardness, and all over quickly, no blood spilt.

I sent up a short prayer that the last animal Bernie saw wasn't a tiger, and regretted that Amelia wasn't here this time to back me up with a spell or two. But her wards were intact and Mindy and Bernie had crossed them, so they didn't mean me physical harm. Yet.

I'd rescinded their invitations to the house, so if things got real nasty I could retreat to safety. I glanced towards the porch, wondering if I could reach it in time.

"Hi Sookie," Mindy said nervously. "We're not here to cause trouble. Mom just wants to speak to you."

Bernie's mouth was pinched so tight I didn't think a single word could escape. "Okay," I said, not moving any closer. "I'm listening."

"Sam isn't moving back in," Bernie all but growled. "Don't even ask him."

It was an order, not a question. He hadn't spoken to her about the divorce. Lucky me, I got to break it to her. "No, he's not. We're–"

Bernie snapped, "Finished. You're finished messing with him."

My hands went to my hips, but I kept my temper in check and my voice even. "I spoke to Sam yesterday. We're getting divorced."

Mindy covered her mouth, her eyes tearing, but Bernie's eyes stayed flinty as she replied, "Good. You stay out of his way. Let him get on with his life."

"I think that's up to Sam, don't you?"

She scowled. "No. You've done enough damage. Stay away from my son."

"Mom," Mindy cajoled, putting a restraining hand on her arm.

She shook it off and gestured at me. "Look at her! Not a hair out of place or a bit upset. She's got some guts facing me after what she did."

"Mom, calm down," Mindy hissed more urgently. "You promised."

I stood my ground. "What happened between Sam and me ... I regret the way things ended, but I didn't do anything wrong, Bernie."

She snarled, "You took off without a word as soon as you wanted rid of him. And let's not forget you made him marry you in the first fucking place."

I retorted hotly, "I did not make him marry me! I saved his damn life with that wish. I had no idea what else it would do."

Mindy was wide-eyed and confused, but Bernie ploughed right on. "Really?" she sneered. "I wasn't born yesterday. I know all about _your ki__nd _and their wishes. Wishes have to be directed. You did this. You _used_ him."

"I …" The denial caught in my throat.

Bernie wasn't entirely wide of the mark. I hadn't created the join deliberately, but the truth was I had turned to Sam, and had selfishly gone on to marry him, all because I was terrified to be alone. _I_ needed _him _to be my rock, my security blanket. I had used him, kind of, and I felt six shades of awful about that.

Triumph flashed in Bernie's hazel eyes at my inability to deny her accusation. That exasperated me enough to temporarily flush away my remorse and unlock a torrent of words.

"If I did Bernie, I did it unwittingly. By accident. And don't you dare lay this all on me. It wasn't like Sam didn't get something out of it. He's alive, ain't he? And he got what he wanted. He was after a relationship with me for years. Why do you think he brought me to Craig's wedding and pretended we were together?"

She snorted. "Because the fool needs his head examined. It never made a lick of sense, him pining over a damn _waitress_ for years. But you do have an uncanny ability to fascinate men, don't you? Real uncanny." _Fucking fairie__s. Like fucking sirens … never stood a chance..._

"Mom! That's enough!" Mindy yelled before I could answer her mom. Bernie turned her glare on her daughter, who lowered her voice and hissed, "Sam is gonna kill you when he finds out we came here as it is."

"I'm not done yet. She needs to be put in her place after what she did." Bernie turned back to me and with an effort spoke more calmly. "I guess you don't think an apology is necessary, then."

I frowned. "An apology for what exactly?"

Her eyes flashed and she snapped, "For almost killing him."

"What?"

She was absolutely livid. "That's typical! You don't even know. Why am I even surprised? You didn't care enough to tell him to his face you were leaving. Why on Earth did I think you'd give two shits for what happened to him after you left?"

What the heck was she talking about? I looked from her to Mindy and back, desperate for a clue. "What are you talking about? What happened?"

Mindy looked shocked. "You don't know? Sam was–"

I gasped. In her mind Sam lay in a bed, an IV in his arm, his skin waxy and pale, and his hair plastered to his head with sweat. Knocking on heaven's door, by the look of him.

"–in hospital for ages." Mindy finished, stepping back jerkily. "You just read my mind, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to." I hated the whine in my voice, but I hated the fear in hers even more. And the revolted expression on her round pleasant face. We'd been family for three years and I repulsed her.

Bernie repeated forcefully, "Stay away from Sam. I mean it." Then she turned to Mindy, "Let's go, honey. It'll be a cold day in hell before that bitch realises what she did, let alone gives me an apology. Wouldn't be worth the salt anyway."

I hugged myself, fighting back tears as they drove away. What the hell had happened to Sam and why was Bernie so convinced it was my fault?

…

I had a strong desire to head straight to Merlotte's to ask Sam himself, but I figured that's where Bernie and Mindy were headed and that particular hornet's nest had been stirred enough. I decided Kennedy was the one to ask.

I pulled up at the house she and Danny shared as dusk was gathering. I knocked sharply and she answered a few seconds later. She took one look at my face, glanced at the house opposite – the one with the twitching drapes hiding an extremely curious old lady – and ushered me straight inside.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

I looked around. The house was well-presented, like Kennedy, and clean as a new pin. "I'm fine." She looked sceptical so I added, "Mostly. I just had a run-in with Bernie."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Sam's mom? Is she back from Texas?"

"Yep. Especially to see me." I pulled a face.

"Christ on a cracker. How'd that go?"

I grimaced. "About as well as you'd expect. But that's not why I'm here. Seems I'm missing some facts."

"Facts?"

"Yeah. Like Sam being hospitalised while I was gone."

Her eyes widened dramatically. "Oh Lord, no-one told you? But Penny said you were at Merlotte's yesterday. Didn't Sam or anyone say anything?"

"Nope."

"Shoot. Take a seat Sook, I'll fill you in. Want a drink? Coffee?"

"Please."

Once we were settled, I let Kennedy talk, mostly just listening. She scrunched up her nose as she cast her mind back to December.

"Let's see … I gave Sam your letter that Monday night – that's when you left?"

"Uh-huh."

"He seemed real off that Tuesday. Then he didn't show the next day. We figured he was taking some time off, what with y'all fighting." She gave me a sympathetic look. "Terry and me, we took over, but by Friday there was still no word and nobody had seen Sam anywhere. He wasn't at the trailer, or the duplexes. We were all worried. Then his brother Craig turned up, late that night, at the bar. He told us Sam was in a bad way, over in some private clinic in Shreveport."

My heart sank. Ludwig's. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"No, no. It was all very mysterious. Craig was distraught. I could see it was serious. He asked us to keep the place running, so we muddled along for another week. Barely scraped through Christmas. Without you or Sam signing the checks, orders went unpaid, suppliers stopped delivering and then a couple waitresses left because their wages weren't paid. Sheryl and Ashley. They couldn't afford to stay." She stopped, biting her lip anxiously.

I didn't blame those two. They had little mouths to feed. "It's okay, Kennedy. Go on."

She nodded. "Well, with New Year coming we didn't know what to do. We were short of beer, and half a dozen other things, and short-handed. Terry and I tried to get hold of Sam's family, Craig or Bernie, but in the end the best we could do was Jason. He had no idea how to get hold of them and … Well, he wasn't real concerned about the bar. Said we should just close until Sam was back."

I got a flash of exactly what Jason had said about Sam, which involved a lot of cussing. "Oh. Um, Jason wasn't on good terms with Sam after … well, I guess you know that." After they'd had a knock-down brawl in front of half the town, everyone knew that.

Kennedy grimaced. "Yeah, I got that. We tried Sook, but Terry and me, we couldn't keep the place going indefinitely and we all felt the loss of wages. 'Specially that time of year."

"Of course. I'm sure you did your best, Kennedy." I couldn't care less about the bar. I was desperate to know what had happened to Sam.

"It didn't feel like it. It was awful, shutting the place up." Then she brightened. "It was only ten days though. Bernie turned up with Frank Hughes and a power of attorney so she could sign checks for Sam." She bit her lip again. "She looked awful, grief stricken. The form … It said Sam was in a coma, after a car accident."

"Oh God," I moaned automatically.

Kennedy was sure that wasn't the whole truth. What with Danny being Bill's day man and all, she was aware that things were never quite what they seemed with supes. She worried that Sam had gotten hurt in a fight. I was a touch disturbed by that idea myself.

"So the place reopened, but we'd lost a lot of business. And it was awkward, running things over to Shreveport for Bernie to sign." She added quietly, "She wouldn't leave his bedside. He must've been real bad, Sook."

"But you don't know what happened to him?"

"No. Not even now. Sam's very tight-lipped about the whole thing. No-one wants to ask."

"How long was he…?"

She sighed. "A while. He didn't come back to the bar until March and even then only for a few hours at a time."

"Oh no." I could see how exhausted and sick he looked in Kennedy's memories. Poor Sam. And his family … But it didn't make sense. Four months. Shifters healed faster than the rest of us.

Kennedy shifted in her chair a little. "I guess you don't know about the rest either."

"There's more?"

"About the bar there is. It was just one disaster after another …You wanna hear it now, honey?"

"Go ahead," I said grimly.

"A couple days after we reopened Andy turned up looking for Sam, like he didn't know full well he was over in Shreveport and real sick. Turned out the property taxes on the duplexes were overdue, so I left a message for Bernie. She turned up with some accountant a few days later, fit to be tied. Andy arrived and she laid into him right there in the bar, accused him of harassing her when her son was critical just because they were twoeys."

"Oh Lord."

"Yeah. Andy didn't take too kindly to that. I thought for sure Bernie was gonna get hauled off in a patrol car, but that accountant guy stepped in, calmed 'em both down. Turned out they had a few tenants skip rent knowing Sam wasn't around to chase it, so the check for the tax had bounced. It all got smoothed over, but …"

"Not before the whole town got wind of it."

"Yeah. And that accountant – what's his name? Chuck something – he handled Andy okay, but I know for a fact a few tenants walked all over him. Paid him in sob stories instead of rent money."

I groaned. "Because Sam was ill. That's despicable. He's always been a reliable landlord, how can people take advantage like that?"

"You know what folks are like. Gratitude doesn't last long when you're short on dollars." She sighed. "Merlotte's was quiet after that. January was real warm. Folks stayed home to do their drinking."

Kennedy didn't say that Bernie's public fight with Andy had put people on edge, but I heard it just the same. Folks don't visit a bar for its tense atmosphere and … Oh crap. Jason had hinted to all and sundry that Sam might not be back and the place might go under, so folks had drifted to other watering holes.

I cussed him silently for playing protective older brother at the expense of the business I part-owned. Not that Jason would've thought that through. I asked, "Things didn't pick up?"

Kennedy grimaced. "Nope. Terry was real stressed, kept disagreeing with Marcel. He threw a hissy fit and quit on us." She sniffed disdainfully; she'd never thought much of our latest cook's flighty temperament. "When we couldn't find another cook the waitresses got worried. Rumours were flying all over that the place was up for sale, that the bank was gonna foreclose…" She bit her lip again. "Then we had a guy come in around the end of February. He said he was your lawyer: tall, dark, Mr Calata-, Catala–"

"Cataliades."

"Oh, thank the Lord! You do know him. I was starting to think he wasn't genuine if you didn't know any of this."

"Haven't spoken to him yet. I was off the grid for a while." I didn't elaborate.

"Oh, that explains it. I guess he heard the rumours and came to see if he could help. He was real polite, showed me the paper you'd signed. So I figured it was okay to let him look over the books."

"Did he help any?" Bless him, Mr C would have tried.

Kennedy grimaced. "Well, he might have if Bernie hadn't chosen that day to turn up."

I sighed. "What happened?"

"She, uh, yelled at him. Whole bar heard it. She wouldn't believe he wanted to help. Seemed to think he was nosing around trying to find out how much Sam was worth so you could take him for everything he had. She wouldn't even admit you owned part of the bar. Said it was a gift from Sam to you as his wife and that didn't count."

I closed my eyes wearily. She knew I was part-owner, but I guess Sam had kept the money I'd loaned him to himself. "I guess he never told her."

Kennedy tried not to show her curiosity.

"He got in some trouble a while back and I loaned him some money. This was back before we were a couple or I never would have done that." Love and loans made uneasy bedfellows, Gran always said. "Instead of paying me back, he gave me a third of the bar."

Kennedy's eyebrows floated up. Even her surprise was elegant. "That was some loan."

"Oh, it was." I gave her a closer look. "What else did Bernie say?"

She looked away. "Your lawyer guy showed her the ownership papers in black and white. She said Sam should never have taken a cent from you, called it blood money..." Her voice trailed off and she winced.

Fucking Bernie. She all but called me a blood whore. No wonder everyone was giving me the cold shoulder.

Kennedy didn't want to say, but Bernie's words had fed the fire. Rumours about me and the damn vamps had flared to life again. Unpleasant rumours that wouldn't have been flying around Bon Temps in the first place if Sam hadn't run his mouth off about Eric in Hotshot, I might add.

Like mother, like son. Neither of them gave two figs for my tattered reputation.

I sighed and rubbed my face. Bernie did look awful in Kennedy's memories. I could excuse her lashing out when she was at the end of her rope over Sam's recovery. I just wish I knew what had…

Oh no. No, no, no.

Sam had been taken ill right after I left.

I stood up abruptly.

Kennedy stood too, anxiously searching my face. "What's wrong, Sookie? You've gone awful pale."

"I have to..." I took a deep breath, got it together. "Was there anything else?"

"Um. Sam was back home a few days after your lawyer stopped by, but he was real weak. Came back to work mid-March. And then …" Eric turned up to see Sam, but Kennedy didn't know what about and didn't want to upset me any more than I already was, so she glossed over it. "Stephanie arrived at the start of April and everything got straightened out. Hired a new cook, got Sheryl and Ashley back, even got the Freshfast deliveries back on schedule."

Freshfast were the most uncooperative of our suppliers, ever since they found out Sam was a shifter. I'd bet my last dollar they were the first to pull out.

"Okay. Thanks Kennedy. I'm sorry things have been so tough. I had no idea."

"It's okay. It's not your fault. It was just bad timing, Sam falling sick right after you left."

I tried not to flinch. We hugged our goodbyes and I hurried out.

Bad timing my ass. I was horribly certain there was a direct link between those two events and I needed a word or two with a certain silver-tongued evasive great-grandfather.

…

As soon as I got home, I dug out the business card Niall had left for me back at Wynn's house. I dialled the number and left a curt but polite message that I needed to speak to him urgently. Then I worked off some anger slicing fixings for a sandwich, cussing Niall three ways to heaven when I got too enthusiastic and caught my finger with the knife.

While I ate, I tried to remember exactly what Niall had said to me when we discussed breaking the join.

Niall had definitely confirmed it wouldn't undo Sam's resurrection. I'd asked him specifically if it would hurt Sam.

Temporary... he'd said 'it' would be temporary, and once the join was broken Sam would be fine. What was the 'it'? The conversation was only a few weeks ago for me, but I couldn't recall his exact word. Inconvenience? No… Whatever it was he certainly hadn't indicated Sam would be at death's door for months.

Damn devious fairy.

When the bell rang I hurried to the front porch, with a piece of my mind ready to hand to him.

"Oh." I took a breath or two and changed gears. "Bill."

He was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, outside the house ward. He'd been looking out at the woods and he turned to me, a slow warm smile spreading on his face. "Good evening Sookie. How are you tonight?"

"Fine, Bill, just fine." I was too preoccupied with my plans to wring Niall's neck to appreciate Bill's charms and he didn't seem to notice my smile was not at all as warm as his.

He gave me a fond look. "It's a lovely night."

"Yep, sure is."

A tiny frown flickered between his eyebrows. "A lovely night for a walk," he prompted.

"Oh. Right." I'd totally forgotten our conversation from the night before.

To his credit, he didn't show impatience, nor did his manners falter. "Perhaps, as we were prevented from doing so by your visitor last night, we could take that walk now."

Shit. "Oh. I... That is, now isn't a good time, Bill. I'm waiting on someone. Can I take a rain check?"

"Of course." He gave a little bow, but I caught the displeasure in his dark eyes. "Is it anyone I know? You seem on edge. If you need some support…"

"Oh, no. I can handle it. It's a family matter."

He relaxed, but I tensed. Crap. My guards were out in the woods somewhere, woods Niall might come through. He would mask his scent, but... Vamps. Fairies. Accidental draining waiting to happen.

"Well, Bill it was nice to see you." I said in a tone that conveyed we were done.

He blinked. "If you're sure you'll be okay?"

"Yep."

He gave me a nod and walked quickly away towards the cemetery. Sometimes I appreciated the vampire aversion to small talk. Once Bill was out of range, I called the guards using the number Pam had given me. I warned them a tall, blond, deliciously-scented visitor was arriving and they weren't to lay a fang on him.

If anyone was getting a piece of Niall, it would be me.

…

I stayed on the porch, pacing until I realised I should save my energy for scolding Niall. So I sat on the porch swing and kept my anger smouldering. That got easier the longer I waited.

Over an hour later, a figure emerged from the woods to the side of the house. Niall picked his way gracefully over. I waited at the top of the steps, arms folded and chin raised belligerently.

"Good evening Sookie," he said warmly. Then he looked at me properly and paused mid-step.

"Stay right there."

He frowned delicately. Perhaps he'd gotten to the age when fairies worried about wrinkles and tried not to frown real hard. "You are angry," he announced.

"Yep. Damn straight. You told me breaking the join would be safe. You said Sam would be okay."

"The shifter has recovered, has he not?" he said mildly.

"Oh sure, he's fine _now_. Being comatose for months is not what I call safe, Niall."

His blue eyes flashed and he stiffened. "I told you he would experience some difficulty."

That was the word he'd used!

My voice rose dangerously close to shouting. "Difficulty? Difficulty? Geez Louise Niall, he was on his deathbed! Why didn't you warn me?"

He softened his tone. "Because you are a kind and compassionate woman. You might have refused to remove the join or hesitated at a crucial moment."

"You bet your sweet patootie I would have. I wouldn't have risked Sam's life!"

"The shifter was strong enough to survive." He added casually, "If you had left the join intact, I would have killed him anyway."

I choked out a strangled, "What?"

"Make no mistake: eventually the magic would have driven him to kill you. Killing him was the only other way to prevent that. You are important to me, Sookie. I am not prepared to waste this second chance and lose the little time I have with you."

I gaped at him.

Holy fuck. He spoke so casually about _murdering_ my husband, as if the act had little more significance than squashing a bug. I felt like I'd reached my hand into a tank of goldfish and looked down to meet a shark's cold flat stare.

Niall focused entirely on me. _Predator_ screamed in my head. "You are shocked that I would kill for you. You are kin. How could I do less than the vampire? He killed for you, did he not?"

I stiffened. He meant Eric, but Bill was fresh in my mind and the old splinter of guilt over my Uncle's death jabbed at me. "There's a reason I'm not involved with vampires anymore."

The corner of his mouth twitched like he'd heard something mildly amusing.

Annoyed, I snapped, "You should have warned me."

He tilted his head. "You were told Sam would be weakened if you were apart."

I glared. "You said it would be like flu."

"The effects increase with distance."

"Well, nobody told me that!" And I'd rushed off to the other side of the world. "Goddamn it, Niall. His family were devastated. I can't begin to imagine what it did to them seeing him like that."

He shrugged.

"For someone who'd murder for his own kin you sure don't care much about another family's suffering. Jesus Christ, Sheppard of Judea," I said in disgust. He flinched at that and I almost repeated the profanity for the satisfaction of getting a reaction from the cold-hearted son of a bitch.

Niall shrugged again. "They are not my kin. You are."

I scowled. I wanted to make him understand, so he wouldn't mislead me again. Clutching at straws I appealed to his greed, knowing he'd amassed wealth here and money seemed important to him. "He was out for months. He almost lost the bar."

"It is only a bar. He had kin to take over. Employees to delegate to." Then he said sharply, "That is what I have to do when I'm called away from my duties at short notice."

I scoffed. It wasn't like he'd showered me with attention since the portals re-opened. In fact, for all his professions of love, he hadn't even stuck around to keep a vigil at my bedside when I was ill. "Was that why you dumped me with Wynn? So you could get back to being Envoy and lording it over everyone?"

Abruptly he was right in front of me, face too bright to look at, hair floating around his head in a halo of static. I froze, too shocked by his dazzling true form to react.

"Show some respect," he hissed. "I am Envoy to the fae, not a mere barkeep. I cannot leave my duties lightly. Yet here I am. When you call, I come. Do not forget that I called in a favour centuries old so you could remove the join. It would have cost me much less to kill the shifter."

His fierce blue gaze seared into me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I blinked frantically against the intense light. It dimmed slowly and he stepped back, folding back into his 'human' shape in a way that hurt my head to watch. It defied reason and bent perspective, like an Escher drawing.

I wiped my eyes, after-shadows blurring my vision. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.

"I left you with Wynn because I could not help. She was the best one to nurse you. She is trustworthy, even though her race is an old enemy of the fae. Unlike us they belong here, to this realm." He added almost too quiet to hear, "As do you."

I heard the weight of regret in those words. I looked up, my sight finally clear.

He reached out to lay his hand on my cheek and he was achingly beautiful, even with the network of fine lines around his blue eyes. "I came back to spend my twilight closer to you."

Fear shot through me at the reference to his dwindling lifespan. Despite his otherness and our misunderstandings, I loved him. He was family and I had precious little of that. I pressed my hand over his.

"My becoming Envoy will serve you well. True, the post eats up my time, but it brought me back to this realm and it carries influence that I can use if you have need of it. Do not be angry with me, child. I will not abandon you for the trappings of power."

I knew who that barb was aimed at and wisely didn't challenge it by voicing my gut feeling that when push came to shove Niall would choose his position over a great-granddaughter with the smallest dab of his blood. Power had to be important to someone who'd led his people as long as he had.

"I am sorry you are upset." He leant forward and cautiously pressed a kiss to my forehead.

I felt the warmth of fairy energy relaxing me. I knew I should still be mad, I knew he'd wriggled his way out of admitting he was wrong. But he had apologised. Baby steps.

"Goodnight Sookie," he said solemnly.

There was a quiet pop and I whispered "Goodnight Niall" to the empty air.

...


	4. Small Town Blues

Happy Halloween! Thanks for all the reviews, especially all the long, thoughtful ones from guest reviewers. Thank you for taking the time, it's appreciated.**  
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><p><strong>Small Town Blues:<strong>

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><p>Over breakfast, I decided I'd come out even with Niall. Barely.<p>

The old goat had apologised for upsetting me, but not for failing to make clear the impact of my actions on Sam. I had stood up for what I believed in and said my piece. We both had. It was almost like a real family fight.

Having vented my frustrations with Niall, I needed to apologise to Sam. Having no stomach for an audience, especially Bernie if she was still around, I chickened out and called Merlotte's. I asked to speak to Sam in his office, bracing myself as I waited for him to pick up.

"Sookie?"

"Hi Sam. I, um …" I took a deep breath and pushed forward. "I found out from Kennedy just last night that you were real sick last winter. You were at Ludwig's, in a coma?"

"Uh-huh," he said guardedly.

"Oh Sam, I had no idea. Are you okay? I mean, there weren't any lasting effects?"

He cleared his throat. "Took a while, but I'm fine."

His discomfort made me babble. "It was the join, wasn't it? Niall didn't tell me how it would affect you. You know what he's like, never effing explains anything properly. I never would have agreed if I'd known. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said stiffly.

"All I got was a few days of fever. I figured that's all you'd get too. I swear I had no clue it would be worse than that."

"A few days? Figures," he mumbled bitterly

I winced. I deserved that. "I can't apologise enough, Sam. I can't imagine what your family went through, seeing you like that." My voice hitched as I imagined him unconscious and helpless.

"Yeah, better not call them for a while. You're not exactly flavour of the month."

"I guess they're pretty mad I wasn't around." I purposefully didn't mention Bernie's visit. I was sure she wouldn't tell him and I was damned if I was going to be accused of stirring up trouble between them.

"Yeah. They are."

"Um... How much do they know?"

He sighed. "Craig and Mindy, just that we were having problems, I moved out and caught some virus. Kinda hard to explain the rest when they don't know fairies even exist. Mom knows everything. She knows the join made me sick, that you were off fixing things. But she..."

"Blames me anyway." I said it for him. "I know it won't do any good, but can you … can you pass on how sorry I am to Bernie and everybody else?"

"Sure. Probably won't help none. Look, I've got to go."

"Oh, okay. Bye Sam."

The phone clicked; he was gone.

I sat glumly at the kitchen table for a while, feeling remorseful for everything I'd put Sam and his family through. Eventually I convinced myself to stop wallowing and got up to make some of Wynn's calming tea. Half an hour later I was about to go out when the phone rang. Answering it, I discovered it was the day for uncomfortable phone conversations.

"Hi Sookie. I got your message." Amelia, returning my call. She was trying for perky, but she sounded almost as nervous as I was.

"Thanks for calling back. I need to ask you something about the wards…" I trailed off, wondering how to break the news of my impending divorce.

We had drifted apart long before I took off last December. Asking her to find out about the join had been the first time I'd trusted her with anything like that in years. I'd kept her at arm's length, for good reason. Amelia running her mouth had put me in danger one too many times and I'd never really taken her back into my confidence.

If I let the elephant of past mistakes sit on the line, stretching the link between us, our friendship would snap under its weight. Or I could wrestle it out of the way, forgive the past and draw Amelia back into my life.

The silence lengthened.

It wasn't like Amelia to keep quiet. Maybe she'd matured. Maybe it _was_ time to forgive her.

Elephant wrestling it was.

"Ames?" I hadn't called her that in a while. "I could sure do with a friendly ear today. Can we catch up? Really catch up?"

I heard her breath hitch. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Neither of us said anything for a second. Then we spoke over each other, stopped and laughed.

"You go first, Ames."

"Okay. How was your trip? Tara said you went to Europe."

"Oh, um, yeah. Niall took me to somewhere … interesting. And terrifying."

She gasped and said enviously, "He took you to his home?"

"Um, no. Somewhere else. You remember I asked you about joins?"

"I knew it! As soon as I heard about Sam I just knew it!" That was Amelia, more excited to be right than upset about Sam's trials and tribulations. She said smugly, "You weren't asking for someone else, were you? You were asking for yourself."

"Yes. Well, for Sam actually."

"Sam?"

"Yeah. When I used the locket, it made this super-strong, out of control join between us."

"Out of control?" she squeaked. "Oh my God, that's dangerous magic."

"It sure is. Dangerous for Sam, as it turned out. I had to go somewhere to get it undone."

"Oh wow. That must've taken some mojo."

I shuddered. "The old gal who did it sure had mojo coming out the wazoo."

She whistled. "Hence the terrifying bit, huh? We'll have to get together and talk properly."

I could visualise the hungry gleam in her eyes. Amelia had a thirst for knowledge, magical knowledge, and you couldn't get more magical than another realm, a sacred pool and an ancient drowned woman. She'd lap it up.

"Sure. I can bore you to tears with my holiday pics too. I spent a week sightseeing in England, which was kind of fun." Maybe she'd know what sort of supe Wynn was.

"That'd be great." Then she suggested hesitantly, "You could come visit me?"

I'd never been to Amelia's. Her and Bob, and little Felix, had always come to Bon Temps. "Oh, that would be nice."

She picked up on my doubtful tone. "It's difficult for me to get away from the store over the summer, what with the tourist season. I know, I know. It's the same with the bar."

"Oh. About that. I'm not working at Merlotte's."

"You're not? Wait, are you… No, you can't be. You just got back."

"Can't be what?"

"Um, pregnant?" I heard the cringe in her voice. "Sorry, Sook, I just–"

"It's okay. No, I'm definitely not expecting." Or likely to be any time soon. I was destined to be single for a while, I thought sadly.

"Oh." Then, in a very small voice, she added, "I am."

My mouth opened for the obligatory congratulations. Then I registered the quiver in her voice and hesitated, suddenly unsure. Was she worried it would upset me? Was there something wrong?

Amelia broke the silence, with a desperate rush. "I'm not due until December, so it's ages yet. Plenty of time to get Felix used to the idea. And we won't have to buy so much for a second. It'll be much easier this time around–"

I butted in at her first intake of breath. "Ames, slow down. What's wrong? Don't worry, I'm not upset."

"I … It's not that."

"Is … is it medical?" I couldn't quite bring myself to be blunter after my own heartaches.

"No, no. Everything's fine. With the pregnancy anyway. It's–" She choked and swallowed noisily. "It's Bob and me."

"Oh, honey. What happened?"

"I... I can't talk about it over the phone. Just … things are really strained." She added very softly, "Clinging on by a thread, actually."

I related. Big time. I swallowed my own lump. "A thread is better than nothing, Ames. I have a real good reason for quitting Merlotte's." I took a deep breath. "Sam and I are calling it quits. We're getting a divorce."

She gasped. "Oh no, Sookie. I'm so sorry."

"Me too. That's why I was calling about the wards."

"Oh. I get it. You want Sam taking off them. You didn't pay attention when we did them, did you?" She was mock-scolding me.

I smiled. "No, not really."

"Well, you should have. That shit is important, you know. They're tied to you; we added Sam as your husband. Once your marriage is dissolved the ward won't recognise him."

"Oh, that's… great." Dissolved. Washed away. Gone like it had never been.

There was an awkward pause.

Then I realised Ames would understand. I could talk about it. I wasn't alone.

"Things haven't been right for a while, Ames. We kept fighting, stupid ugly fights over the most ridiculous things. It was awful. Some of it was the join and some of it was just … us."

"That's terrible."

"It was. I never should have married him. He's always been a great friend and I should have stuck with that. I just hope we can get that back eventually, because right now everything's screwed up. Maybe … maybe it's a blessing we never had a kid."

"Oh Sook, don't say that." Her voice was thick with tears. My cheeks were wet. We both sniffled a good few times before she spoke again. "I know what you mean. I don't want to lose Bob as a friend either. This sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, Ames. It sure does. Thanks for listening, I appreciate it."

"No problem. You too." She moved around a little. "Shoot, I've got to go. Look, let's make a deal. If either of us needs a shoulder, we'll call each other. Right?"

"Sure, Ames. You take care now."

My misery shared and lessened, I felt perversely grateful that Ames was going through her own difficulties so she sympathised with mine. It was only later that I realised she'd hadn't shared any details of what exactly had happened between her and Bob.

…

I ran errands the rest of that day and the next. I took control of my bank accounts, cleared the backlog of mail and collected all the documents Mr Cataliades asked me to gather.

The rest of the week yawned ahead of me, empty of routine and purpose. I looked at job vacancies but nothing local appealed. I was still persona non grata with a significant section of Bon Temps anyway, so I figured I'd wait that out and look seriously once the dust had settled.

I was at a loss for what to do with myself. Without the bar, without all the things I did with or for Sam, there was a very big hole to fill. I was a little dismayed to discover how much of my life had revolved around him, but I consoled myself that at least I'd been a supportive wife in that way.

Tara didn't call and I didn't feel particularly comfortable socialising alone any place in town. I could hardly drop by Merlotte's. I would have gone stir-crazy if Michele hadn't been home on leave. Dropping by for a chat with her nearly every day and seeing Junior saved my sanity.

As Friday drew closer, anxiety overrode boredom.

Mr C had arranged an early morning meeting at Sam's lawyer's office. I still thought of it as Sid Matt's place even though he retired two years ago. His replacement Frank Hughes was middle-aged, but still trim, and greying, but not balding. He was calm and efficient, but I missed Sid Matt's warm old-fashioned Southern charm.

Frank showed us into a nondescript meeting room where Sam was waiting. The place felt impersonal and cold. I fidgeted in my seat while Frank organised coffee that I was far too nervous to drink.

I had witnessed the messy fallout of divorce before, notably the spectacular implosion of Arlene's third marriage which ended in a flurry of allegations and counter-allegations and a whole mess of nasty ugliness. So I was tense, not knowing how Sam would act. Frank's cool manner did little to soothe me, nor did Sam's appearance. He was wearing a dark suit and a funeral face to match. I refused to peek into his head; I was not stooping that low.

Frank said a few words and then handed out a list of our assets to be divided.

Sam cleared his throat and tried to smile at me. "Sookie gets the house."

I nodded quickly, wanting the painful process over with, and countered with: "Sam gets Merlotte's."

Sam hesitated, sharing a look with Mr C. "No. I get the duplexes and the rental business intact."

I frowned. "But–"

Mr C coughed politely. "I believe Mr Merlotte is referring to the fact that you own a third of Merlotte's. That investment was made before the marriage and should remain yours."

Frank sat forward. "Do you have the papers?"

"Yes." Mr C flipped the folder in front of him open and deftly extracted them. He handed them to Frank. "I've highlighted the initial transaction and included the ownership document."

Frank looked them over and turned to Sam. "Do you still intend to buy her out?"

I blinked. That was an awful lot to take out of the bar after a bad winter. I said, appealing to Sam with my eyes, "Oh, that's not necessary, we could–"

Sam shook his head, determined. "No, Sookie. You gave me that money when I needed it. I know you've got income from your inheritance, but that was your savings. I'm buying you out."

I asked pointedly, "Can Merlotte's afford that?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Yes." When I opened my mouth, he interrupted quickly. "The bar won't go under if that's what has you worried. I'm taking on another partner."

I was about to ask who it was, but Sam set his jaw in a way that said it wasn't any of my business.

Mr C coughed again and suggested an amount, the original sum plus a return based on Merlotte's increased value. I wasn't in this for every cent I could get, and I certainly didn't want any of them thinking I was. I argued stubbornly for just the original amount, which was all I ever expected to be repaid. Mr C countered that was reasonable for a short-term loan, but not for one over three years. Sam agreed with him and I reluctantly compromised on an amount based on how the money would've grown in my savings account.

After that, it was simple. We kept our own vehicles. I would return some bits and pieces Sam had left in the house, and pick up my personal items from Merlotte's. That was that. We drew up the papers, notarised what needed notarising and signed what needed signing.

The whole time I kept up a brittle calm. Sam was tense and quiet, mind shut tight. It wasn't until we were out in the parking lot that chinks opened up in our respective suits of armour.

Sam was standing by his truck fishing in his pocket for his keys.

"Sam?" I said tentatively, from a couple feet away.

He looked over, his expression guarded.

I swallowed and stepped closer. "I just wanted to say … thank you for being reasonable in there." I waved at the building. "That could have been... you know. I know it wasn't easy for you. Thank you." I reached out and squeezed his arm very quickly.

He searched my face for a second and then nodded to himself. "Thank you too, Sookie. Take care now." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and faded as he turned away.

"You too, Sam," I said quietly.

…

I had more free time than Sam so I volunteered to file the papers.

Mr C drove me over to the parish courthouse, where he walked me through the filing process. That was the easy part. We got the filing number from the clerk and to speed things up, we drove straight back to Bon Temps to serve Sam with the relevant papers. Mr C took them into him at Merlotte's, got them signed and stamped, and we drove back over to deposit them at the courthouse.

The clerk filled out the certificate, which needed a judge's signature the same day. Even with Mr C's comforting presence, my palms were sweating when I went into the judge's chambers.

The judge looked over the papers, giving me several piercing glances over his reading glasses. Agitated, all I could tell from his mind was that he was examining the proof we'd lived apart for six months. Mr C had provided paperwork that showed I'd been in Europe. Rather dubious paperwork as that wasn't precisely true, but no-one had stamped my passport 'Other Realm'.

Fearing that the judge had spotted an inconsistency, my heart thudded when he asked if I'd enjoyed Rome. Turned out he only wanted to reminisce about a trip to Italy he'd taken with his wife. I faked my way through that conversation by pulling details from his memories, almost faint with relief when he finally signed and we could leave.

The final step – more paper shuffling, more signatures – had to wait until the following Wednesday.

I invited Mr C for a meal afterwards, mainly so I wasn't alone. While we ate, he filled me in about Merlotte's.

What he told me explained a whole lot: Sam needing the loan in the first place, his nagging me to invest more money, even why I never had anything to do with the rental business. Heck, it explained Sam living in a trailer behind the bar for years and needing Eric's help with my bail money.

Sam bought the bar with cash, but took out hefty loans to buy the duplexes. For years he'd been using the bar profits to cover the repayments if the rental income fell short. When Victor opened the Roadhouse and those idiots were protesting outside the bar, profits nose-dived. Sam hadn't told me, but a couple of his tenants left too, probably frightened off by Victor's goons. Both businesses came up short and Sam couldn't rob Peter to pay Paul. That's when he got into a real mess and needed my help. When he made me part-owner, it wasn't exactly the respectful gesture I'd thought. He literally couldn't pay me back.

On a recommendation from Greg Vicks, Portia's husband, Sam hired an accountant called Chuck Yates to sort out the books. Chuck separated the two businesses completely, putting all the debt back where it belonged with the rental business, incidentally enabling Sam to hide all this from me after we got married. Mr C refrained from commenting on Sam's motives there. Chuck's actions put the bar back on good footing, but a few lean months this winter and everything fell apart.

I was disturbed that Sam was buying me out if things were so bleak, but Mr C reassured me it was all sorted out back in March when an investor from Mississippi bought a share of the duplexes, reducing Sam's debts dramatically.

The hotshot with money burning a hole in his pocket was Edward Burrows, Stephanie's uncle. I put two and two together and Mr C confirmed Stephanie was here keeping an eye on her uncle's investment. Officially, that is. Unofficially I reckoned there was more to it, but I kept that to myself. Mr C was vague on how Mr Burrows got involved, but I figured as Stephanie was a shifter, Sam or Bernie had a connection to the family.

I had a real good hunch Mr Burrows was buying my share of Merlotte's.

I felt bad that Sam had to share his bar with a stranger, but it was better for Sam if it wasn't my business any more, literally and figuratively.

There was no point having a conniption because he'd hidden his financial woes from me out of stupid macho pride. I could let it go. None of it affected me. Not anymore.

After Mr C had gone, I felt … I didn't know how I felt about the divorce.

I should be proud of us both. We handled a painful task calmly, with tact and sensitivity, like adults. I should, but the whole thing felt unreal, too detached.

Ending a marriage should have an impact, hit you in the gut. This… It bothered me that it hadn't. I was a little saddened that the whole thing could pass away with hardly a whimper, as if it was scarcely alive in the first place.

I had a sudden, vivid memory of Eric slashing his arm deeply, blood dripping slowly from the long gash.

What did I want? Sam to tear his hair and beat his chest, for him to bleed for me? That was ridiculous.

No, it was far better this way, without any melodramatic outpourings of grief. Easier on both of us. I'd hurt Sam enough, and if he was still hurting I was the last person he would want witnessing that.

This way we both kept our dignity intact.

…

I slept uneasily that night, so I was groggy when the phone rang at two o'clock in the morning.

I snapped wide awake when I recognised Jason's voice. Fifteen minutes later – out of the house real fast, ignoring speed limits on the way – I was pulling up at my brother's house.

For a woman in labour Michele was far calmer than Jason, who was fidgety and eager to be off to Clarice. Michele was pale, but holding up. The guest room was ready for me to stay in, to babysit Junior. Michele popped in to kiss him before they left. He was fast asleep.

I slept on and off until movement on the bed woke me. I opened my eyes to meet Junior's curious stare, his face disconcertingly close.

"Trucks?" he asked hopefully.

I groaned and sat up, shooting the baby monitor a glare. So much for some warning to get myself together. It was six o'clock.

"Not right now. Breakfast first, Jay-Jay." Jay-Jay was his latest nickname. He liked it, so it was sticking.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, I cooked pancakes and fielded questions. Not where were mom and dad, or when would his baby sister arrive, but whether I knew how to make pancakes properly with chocolate chips, when we could play trucks and why he couldn't have a cookie, which made me chuckle. He was cute _and_ exhausting. Just like Jason.

When Jason rang two hours later we were still playing with Jay-Jay's toy trucks. Michele and baby girl were doing just fine and I could bring Jay-Jay to meet his sister.

Marie Adele Stackhouse was a gorgeous tiny bundle of joy.

I took a bunch of photos – I'd dragged myself into the twentieth century and bought a digital camera after finding Dave's easy to use – of Jay-Jay holding Marie Adele for the first time. Jason told him very seriously that he was a big brother and he had to protect his little sister.

Jason glanced up at me and our eyes met, his full of regrets and mine forgiveness.

The Schuberts arrived. I took photos of the proud grandparents with Marie Adele and Jay-Jay. Nominating myself as official photographer gave me an out when it came to any questions Michele's parents might have about Sam's absence. Grandma Schubert side-eyed me a few times, but said nothing. Grandpa was a lovely guy, far too kind to put me on the spot.

The novelty wore off for Jay-Jay when Marie fell asleep. Grandpa and I took him for hot chocolate, leaving Michele and her mom chatting while Jason made some calls.

Watching Grandpa Schubert with Jay-Jay brought memories of my own grandfather, Mitchell, patiently teaching Jason and me to fish. He loved roaming the woods with us. I had idly imagined Fintan a time or two since I learnt about him, but I hadn't thought of Mitchell in a long time. I was young when he died and I'd let him sink into the past. Seeing Jay-Jay holding his Grandpa's knotted hand, I realised I'd done Mitchell Stackhouse an injustice. He showed me the meaning of patience, the worth of things made with your own two hands and a gentle sense of humour.

He was my true grandfather.

Back in Michele's room, I was quiet. The others assumed Jay-Jay had woken me too early and left me alone. Sitting in a corner, my eyelids drooping, I thought on family long gone and what it meant to be a Stackhouse in name, not in blood.

I was convinced Fintan had loved Gran and their children. After all, he gave her the Cluviel Dor and hid us all, from his family and enemies alike. I'd never determined Gran's feelings and motives. Was Fintan just a wild hair, an attractive means to an end? Did she truly love Mitchell, or was she too loyal to leave him? I didn't know, despite living with her all those years, privy to her thoughts.

I had loved Mitchell Stackhouse.

I surprised Mr Schubert by hugging him tightly when he and his wife left.

Jason ordered pizza for lunch. He took Jay-Jay to clean up afterwards, so it was just me, Michele and the baby when Tara cautiously stuck her head around the door looking askance at Michele. Jason had called JB, and reluctantly agreed Tara could visit with him while the twins were with JB's parents.

Michele shrugged and JB bounced in like an excited puppy. He cooed at Marie Adele while Tara stayed awkwardly near the door. When Jason and Jay-Jay came in, there was enough noise from the guys to hide the stilted small talk between us womenfolk. Michele smiled at JB holding Marie, and finally Tara unbent some and went to look at her, smiling fondly at JB in a way I hadn't seen for a while.

Kennedy and Danny arrived next, holding hands. I had a pang that Sam wasn't sharing the moment with me, but Jason had made it clear he wasn't welcome. Acutely aware I was a spare wheel, I offered to get coffee and slipped out. I leant against the wall outside the door, enjoying my first real moment alone of the day.

_Aunt Sookie?_

I looked around for Jay-Jay before I registered that the whisper was wrong – older and oddly muffled.

Hunter and Remy rounded the corner. Hunter grinned at me, his brown hair flopping over his hazel eyes. He was eight years old, thin and tanned. He was definitely Remy's son, but I could see Hadley in the set of his eyes and mouth.

We hugged and kissed. I went back in with them so I could capture Hunter and Marie meeting for the first time on camera. After five minutes Hunter began to fidget. I shot him a sympathetic look and a private message.

_Want to escape?_

_Yes please. It's great that they're all so happy but it's too loud._

I took Remy's drink order and Hunter jumped up, offering to help. We shared a secret smile as we left. On the way to the cafeteria we chatted mind to mind, about Marie Adele at first. Then I asked how he was. Remy's latest girlfriend, Hannah, had stuck around while I was gone. Hunter was okay with that; she was easy going. Hannah didn't know he read minds, but Hunter got on with her. It was easier now he didn't blurt out everything he heard. I asked how school was. He was better at shielding than I was at his age, so he had it easier with other kids, but he still got tired and head-achy. Remy had found him a smaller school and told his teachers he suffered migraines, so he was allowed to go to the sick room for some peace when he got overwhelmed. It wasn't perfect, but he was coping.

It helped enormously that Remy had grown to accept it. Remy's thoughts never got as bad as my momma's. Even if Hunter sometimes caught Remy's unease, he wasn't being dragged to psychologists or accused of making it up for attention. The pull momma felt towards daddy, his fairy magnetism, was the root of that. All Hunter had to put up with was Remy's mostly ordinary frustrations as a single dad.

_Did you see anything cool in England?_

I grinned and showed him some images: the moors, the castles, the sea, Dave's cool car.

_Way cool. I hope I get to go there when I'm a grown-up._

_Me too Hunter. _He deserved a fuller life than mine. _I brought back a present for you, so no peeking in my head._

_No, ma'am._

He watched me thoughtfully while I fed coins into the vending machine.

_Your shields are different._

Oh shit. Blood. Vampires. Eric. I tightened those shields hard as I pressed the button for coffee. I kept my mental voice calm. _Oh? Different how?_

_Tougher. No holes. Usually it's like … Like when someone walks by at night when your window is open. You hear a few words before they get too far away. Like that. I hear bits. But not today. And when you show me pictures other things leak out. They didn't this time._

Double shit. How did I explain my super-sealed shields to an eight year old? I searched for a place to start, ferrying coffee over to the tray I had ready on a table.

_Can you teach me to do it?_

I froze at the longing in his question. Hunter saw my reaction and his face fell.

_It's okay if you don't want to._

I put the coffee down, turning to face him. _No Hunter, it's not that. I would if I could. It's–_

_I'm not good enough?_

_No. No. It's something I can't teach you. Something happened to me that made me stronger. But it was a one off, and it's gonna wear off soon._

_Oh._ He relaxed, understanding something from my uncomfortable expression. _It's a grown-up thing. That's okay. I don't wanna know._

His shudder of distaste had me worried he'd seen something gruesome or explicit. I had a quick peek and smothered a smile. It was nothing he'd seen telepathically. He'd walked in on Remy and Hannah making out. Mild stuff, but at eight kissing was the pits. Especially if it was your dad.

_Sorry kiddo._ I pulled him into a hug, careful to avoid skin contact. He was wearing long sleeves even though it was warm.

"That's okay," he whispered bravely, hiding his disappointment. My heart broke for him.

In compensation, I let him load up the tray with candy and we headed back, talking out loud this time. We were in the elevator alone when I remembered I'd never found out if he'd seen Lattesta back in December. I showed him what Lattesta looked like.

He frowned. "I don't remember. I know him though. Is he … bad?"

"He's a special sort of cop. But he knows about me." I tapped my head. "He tried to make me help him. He was mean. If you see him, stay away from him and tell your Dad. But I don't think he'll bother you."

He nodded seriously. "Okay. I'll remember."

Eight year-olds should trust cops. I felt horrible for chipping away another piece of his innocence, but he was better off warned just in case Lattesta turned up again like a bad smell.

When we got to our floor, we met Hoyt coming down the corridor. He took the tray from me and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Hey, Sookie. How are you? I see Jason got you waitressing for him."

I smiled. "Hey Hoyt. Congratulations on the baby by the way."

He blushed. "Thanks, Holly and me are real pleased." He turned to Hunter. "Here, Cody's inside. Grab some candy for you both." Hunter didn't need to be asked twice, he looked up to the older boy. He shot off to see Cody, fists full.

"Sook?"

I stopped on my way to open the door for him. "Yes, Hoyt?"

"You got folks in your corner, Sook. Me, and Catfish, and some of the guys... We know you. Not everybody believes the stuff folks are saying."

I was touched. "Thanks Hoyt."

While everybody grabbed a drink, I fished Hunter's present out of my bag – a book about castles. Hunter was impressed and so was Cody. It sure kept them quiet.

Soon after that Jay-Jay got cranky, needing sleep. I took him back to Jason's and dozed on the couch while he napped. Luckily I'd set an alarm, so when Jason, Michele and Marie Adele arrived later, dinner was ready and the toys were cleared away.

I went home that night content.

I braved church the next morning to give some heartfelt thanks for Marie Adele's safe delivery. After the service people were a mite friendlier. Quite a few came up to coo over the photos on my cell and pass on congratulations for Jason and Michele. I was careful not to listen in, taking their interest and polite remarks at face value.

My shields held firm.

I spent the afternoon at Jason's cooing over Marie and cooking for them. Poor Michele was exhausted. She took a nap when I arrived, looking fresher after it. She gave me the blow-by-blow account of the birth again, lingering on how green Jason went before he cut the cord so we could tease him good-naturedly. He took it well.

I went home that evening, caught up on some chores, had a brief chat to Thalia about guard rosters and turned in early. Something woke me at eleven, but I was so tired and happy that I rolled over and went right back to sleep. The next morning, I found a short note from Bill and gift for the new arrival on the porch.

…

It would have been easy to spend all my time at Jason's, but he only had a week off work and I didn't want to intrude on that delicate time of family bonding. I stayed away Monday, doing chores and sunbathing.

Tuesday, I was restless and ran a couple of errands. My reprieve had ended and the guardians of morality were back to giving me the cold shoulder. In Bon Temps, that was ladies of a certain age. Free during the day, they lay in wait wherever I went. I took the high ground and ignored them.

My last stop was the library. With so much time on my hands the previous week, I needed new reading material. Barbara Beck was tight-lipped when I walked in. Two mature ladies whispering by the romance shelves shut up far too quickly when I arrived behind them.

I'd had enough. I picked the sour looking one, brushing past her to get a lock on her mind. What I saw had me biting back a cuss word that would get me thrown out.

Firstly, Sam and I were spotted outside Sid Matt's place, so somebody put two and two together to get sixteen. The whole town knew we were divorcing.

That, I expected.

The rest…

Delightfully, Bernie had been over for the weekend, somehow generating a flurry of talk. I thought darkly that there needed to be a special divorce procedure for mother-in-laws. One that involved a shotgun.

Sunday afternoon, Bernie was overheard complaining to Maxine that I'd poisoned Jason against Sam, who was gutted he couldn't visit the new baby. Yeah right, like Bernie even cared. As a bitten panther, Jason was the twoey version of trailer trash to her. She'd be glad if Sam never laid eyes on his kids again.

Hot on the heels of that loveliness, Sam had had a blazing row with his mother. No-one knew the details, but my name was overheard, so obviously the rift between mother and son was all my doing.

Final verdict from sourpuss and her friends: I was spiteful, vindictive and intent on tearing two families apart. But I was no better than I ought to be, because I'd upped and left Sam for a vampire, a vampire who put Sam in a coma.

Great. Just what I needed.

I counted to twenty, ignored their sly glances and chose my books. Two romances and a murder mystery.

For a moment, faced with Barbara's fake smile as she checked out my choices, I imagined telling them all some home truths about Bernie, the world's worst interfering mother-in-law. About how she'd never accepted me because I wasn't the right 'breed' to marry her son.

Then I realised how that made shifters sound. No-one around here could fail to recognise that 'stick to your own kind' attitude for what it was. I looked at the two older women, both white. Not everyone of their generation would disagree with Bernie's sentiments. I'd be wasting my breath.

I plastered on the Crazy Sookie smile and politely thanked Barbara Beck. I left the library in high dudgeon, muttering about unfairness, lonely old women and their over-active imaginations.

…

Wednesday I had a date at the courthouse. I'd assured Mr C I could do this alone, but I wished for his steadying company as I approached the judge, praying for no last minute hitches. He rambled on about Rome again while I nodded and smiled, all the while willing him to get on with it so I could get out of there. Eventually he signed off on the papers.

My divorce was entered into the public record.

That was it.

I walked out of the room, clutching the final judgement. I slipped it carefully into the folder I'd brought, and headed to my car. I drove home. I took the folder to the cabinet in the front room, where Gran had always kept important family documents. I took out the box file and opened it.

My marriage certificate was on the top, the last document added.

I sat on the floor, staring at its fancy lettering for some time.

Finally I added the divorce certificate and put the box back in its place. I didn't bawl, didn't shed a tear. I spent the rest of the day quietly, alone, absorbing my change in marital status.

…

Michele invited me round Thursday morning, knowing a fix of Marie Adele would chase away my divorce blues. I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with my niece and nephew, grateful for Michele's unspoken support.

When I got home, Sam had left a message on my machine letting me know he'd got his copy of the final decree and that if I stopped by the bar at three, he had my things ready. I appreciated him suggesting the quietest time of day. I had the last box of his things ready to take over.

I parked behind the bar, hoping to be in and out without being spotted. With the box on my hip I struggled to open the back door, but as soon as I did I heard muffled voices coming from the office. The voices got louder, and I hesitated a few steps inside. The office door was snatched open.

"... done nothing but help you. Asshole."

Stephanie burst out of the office, scowling thunderously. Her lip curled as she pushed past me and I heard her mutter, "Cut the damn apron strings," before she slammed out the door.

"Steph, wait!" Sam shot out of the office after her, pulling up sharply when he saw me, his gaze darting to the closing back door. He clearly wanted to chase after her, but he stayed put. He ran his hand sheepishly through his hair. "Oh. Hi."

I glanced after Stephanie. "Is this a bad time?"

He shrugged, feigning indifference. "No, it's fine." He took the box from me and gestured to the office.

My desk was cleared, a lone box sitting on it.

"I started a box... I'll give you some time to look round, make sure you're got everything." He stepped out of the room and left me to it.

I was glad he had. That box had a lump forming in my throat. Merlotte's had been my second home most of my adult life. The place was full of memories and I was sad to leave. I slowly checked the drawers and the contents of the box. Sam had even packed the plants I'd added to the office, as if he wanted all reminders of me gone.

I reckoned I would too, in his shoes.

Ten minutes later, I was done. I set my keys for the bar on the desk and left.

Sam was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall. He took the box without a word and carried it to my car. Once it was safely in the trunk, he rubbed the back of his neck. I waited for him to spit out what was on his mind.

"Sookie, I owe you an apology."

"You do?"

He sighed. "Yeah. For Bernie."

Really. That had been a long time coming. "What for, exactly?"

He looked at his shoes. "Turns out she's been … Well, not to beat around the bush, she's been trying to set me up this whole time."

So that was what he and Bernie fought about. Figured. I wasn't going to say I told you so, but I was going to make him say it. "Set you up?"

He coughed. "With … other women … shifters." He searched my face. "You don't seem surprised, Cher."

"I'm not. I tried to tell you." I tried not to sound bitter.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I should've listened."

I shrugged. I didn't ask for details, didn't need to. The skank in the bar in Texas. That little shifter chick from out of town that turned up at Merlotte's. Lord knew who else and how many. I didn't want the list.

He cleared his throat. "She, er, promised my dad. That she'd make sure I had a shifter child."

"Oh." He'd never spoken about his father. "I guess that was important to him."

"Yeah. Not important enough to talk to me about it." It was his turn to sound bitter. "Sookie?" He waited until I looked at him. "I never cared about that. Whether you were a shifter or not."

I managed a smile. "I know, Sam."

"Good." He shuffled uneasily and I waited for him to spit out what else was bothering him. He was tentative when he spoke. "I … Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I should warn you about something."

"Go ahead."

"It happened a while ago, before we got ma–, before I moved into your house."

And he was just telling me now? Secretive is as secretive does. I kept my face questioning rather than accusatory.

"I… Well, to cut a long story short, I found a couple of bugs."

Bugs? I had visions of Dean chasing fireflies for a second, until it hit me he meant the other sort of bug. Nastier, more invasive and electronic. I asked sharply, "Where?"

"On your car, the porch steps. I got rid of them as soon as I found them; put them out in the woods. Figured whoever was listening would take a while to work that out before they came back to plant more."

"And did they?"

"Once. Planted one by the back door, another by your room. But after I moved in I never found any more. Now you're alone out there … I could come by and check?"

"Oh. I can get Thalia to…" He looked like he wanted to interrupt. "What? You think a vampire planted them?"

"Not for certain. Whoever it was covered their tracks pretty well. The second lot were planted at night, and the only vamps around at the time were Karin and Bill."

Karin was dead. I was pretty sure Sam knew that. So meant… I tensed. "Why are you telling me this now, exactly?"

Sam flushed, rubbing his neck nervously.

"Sam," I said warningly.

"I just thought–"

"You know Bill's been calling on me," I snapped, cutting off his lame excuse. "Have you been watching me? As Dean?"

"No, of course not." We glared at each other, until he relented. "I heard … Okay, _Dean_ overheard Kennedy talking to Danny about it."

"Uh-huh." I wasn't happy with him or Dean nosing around my friends and my business. Too many ex-wives put up with crap like that, but I wouldn't be one of them. "I can't say as I approve of you eavesdropping on my friends about me, Sam. It's not healthy."

He snapped, "It was an accident." Then he took a breath and tried again. "I just … I don't want to see Bill hurt you again. You gotta be on your guard with him, Sook."

I sighed. "You think it was Bill that planted those bugs."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Or Karin on Eric's orders. I never trusted Karin's motives with you."

Those bugs certainly didn't make Karin seem trustworthy. Maybe that explained why Sam had a hissy fit over Pam's guards. I knew Eric hadn't had much contact with his children, so it was unlikely he had ordered it. Karin or Pam might have taken the initiative though, to keep an eye on me. Pam would probably admit it if I asked. She'd been open about them tracking my car and phone the other night.

Bill. Now why would Bill bug me? I couldn't fathom a reason that made much sense. To keep me safe? Why take the trouble with Karin there? Bill hadn't seemed interested in me back then, so I wanted to dismiss what Sam was hinting at. But maybe he was on to something. Bill had been quite enthusiastic about that walk.

Sam touched my arm when I'd been silent for too long. "I thought you should know. I… I know it's too late to change anything, but I shouldn't have kept all that stuff from you."

He was contrite, I could tell that much. "No, you shouldn't have. I'm glad you realise that."

"Just be careful around Bill. I don't trust him."

His feelings about Bill were harder to read. "I'll be careful. Thanks for telling me, Sam. See you around?"

"Sure. Take care, Cher."

He gave me an awkward pat on the arm and walked quickly away. I watched him go, wondering how much of our conversation was motivated by genuine concern and how much by old-fashioned jealousy.


	5. Girls Just Want To Have Fun

Hi all. Here's this week's chapter, hot off the presses. Thanks for all your the insightful reviews, including the guest ones & yours, tanseynz. If anyone spots any typos or anything PM me so I can fix them.

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><p><strong>5: Girls Just Want To Have Fun<strong>

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><p>That Friday I'd been home a fortnight and I was past ready for my new life to start. After my optimism on the plane home, I felt time a-wasting, but there I was, back in Bon Temps and stuck in a rut.<p>

I was frustrated with my neighbours, fed up to my gritted back teeth with the pernicious gossip that was more of the same old, same old. Crazy Sookie running around with vamps, blah, blah, blah. I dreaded getting stuck in a dead-end job at a diner in town or the Norcross plant. Not that those options weren't good honest work, but I wanted more. And on top of that, the conversation with Sam about Bill was far too familiar, history repeating.

I was trudging a well-worn path, pushing the same boulder up the same hill over and over, only to have it squash me flat as a pancake as it rolled back down. Every damn time.

I was restless, out of sorts all day.

So I wasn't in a particularly welcoming mood that evening when a car pulled up and its horn sounded. I opened the front door, my sullen mood rapidly turning into puzzled curiosity.

It was Danny's station wagon. Out of it, carrying bags and bottles, came Kennedy, Holly, Penny and lastly, smiling cautiously, Tara.

No-one confessed whose idea it was to throw me an impromptu divorce party, but I suspected Michele had a hand in it. It was a big improvement on the pity party I'd been having on my lonesome, let me tell you.

While the others were busy unloading groceries in the kitchen, Tara pulled me aside and told me quietly that even though things were strained between us, she wanted to be there for me at this difficult time. We hugged, brief but tight, and some of the tension between us eased.

My guests took over the kitchen and Penny made tacos. Well, she was in charge. Kennedy and I exchange some amused looks as the shy Penny we knew transformed in to the most demanding kitchen boss ever. When she snapped at me for not chopping the tomatoes correctly, we all burst out laughing.

Penny flushed and began to apologise.

"Don't you dare!" said Kennedy, gasping for breath. "I'll take feisty Chef Penny over meek and mild-mannered Waitress Penny any day."

Holly wiped her eyes and bumped hips with Penny. "Guess we know what Ryan sees in you now, Mistress Penny."

Penny smirked. "Yeah, it's my awesome tacos. If y'all could only follow my instructions you'd find out just how awesome they are."

We all gasped at her sass, and broke into more laughter. I don't know how those tacos got made with Penny jokingly snapping orders and insulting our kitchen skills, and us sassing her back, calling her head chef, and captain, yes-sirring and saluting behind her back.

I hadn't had so much fun in an age, and if my guards heard us moaning over the taste of those tacos and got the wrong idea … Well, they _were_ absolutely delicious.

Afterwards we sat around the kitchen table playing cards, wearing silly party hats. We drank – I stopped after two of Kennedy's Long Island iced teas, that girl made them strong and it was never pretty if I lost control of my telepathy around other people – we laughed and we talked until the small hours. About books, movies, celebrities, the price of fame, our wildest dreams, stupid online videos … Anything and everything.

My new and improved shields were wonderfully impervious. Drunken thoughts were the worst, confused and sordid, so it was great to be spared them.

The company and laughter swept away my restlessness for almost the whole evening, but there was one serious moment, when it was just me and Kennedy in the kitchen and everybody else was stumbling towards bed.

The only sober ones left standing, we were clearing up. I stared out into the night as I washed dishes, wondering what the guards made of my loud party. That made me think of Pam and everything she'd done for me. Pam and Michele, they'd both been pillars of strength. I felt their absence. I had a vision of Pam observing our party like it was some strange tribal custom and sniggered to myself. I could totally see that happening.

I sobered up pretty quick when Tara popped into the picture I was imagining.

Tara and Pam together would be a disaster. I had no idea how Penny felt about vamps either. Pam might be too much for her, Penny was usually so timid. My heart sank. My life, my friends were split into two layers, oil and water, that would never mix effortlessly. I couldn't see a way to resolve that, but I promised myself I'd see Pam soon. Even if she couldn't socialise with my human girlfriends, I was determined to be a better friend to her.

As we got to the last dish Kennedy spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. "I guess you're not coming back to Merlotte's. I heard you cleared your desk."

"Yep. I won't be back. Sam bought me out." I sighed.

"Know what you're going to do?"

"Nope. Not a clue. Maybe waitressing." I pulled a face.

"Hmm." She looked thoughtful. "That's a step down, isn't it? You should be aiming higher, maybe bar manager."

"Those jobs don't come up often."

"No, I guess not. Not in Bon Temps … But you could look further away. Minden or Monroe. Shreveport even."

Just then a burst of giggles came from the back of the house. We looked at each other. I rolled my eyes. "Oh Lord, what are they up to now?"

Kennedy grinned. "Let's find out. It sounds like fun."

…

My sleepover guests left after a hearty breakfast of pancakes, mostly recovered from the festivities. Kennedy's advice repeated in my head as I looked out of the window at my pride and joy, my silver Focus. It was far more reliable than my previous cars. Kennedy was right; I had more potential than waitressing and I wasn't tied to Bon Temps.

That spark of confidence carried me through the weekend.

Saturday morning I shopped in Monroe, meeting up with Kennedy and Penny. I bought myself some smart office wear and a cute outfit for Marie Adele that I couldn't resist, and, on a hunch, a gift basket of Michele's favourite toiletries.

I spent the afternoon at Jason's doting on my niece and nephew. I was right: Michele had arranged the party, including Tara for me despite the fact they hadn't made peace yet. To show how much I appreciated her kindness, I present her with her pamper-kit and told Jason to give her time to use it. She was touched, but made light of it, dismissing her glistening eyes as baby blues.

That evening I covered the kitchen table with local papers and, in fat red marker, circled all the suitable daytime jobs within an hour's drive. Then I narrowed it down, crossing off jobs at larger companies, ones that would be too difficult when Eric's blood wore off and my shields were back to normal.

Sunday I skipped church, figuring quiet contemplation and a pray or two at home while I was baking beat running the gauntlet of the gossips. I left a message for Pam asking if she was free on Monday for some girl time while Fangtasia was shut, mentioning I had some plans to discuss with her. Then Danny – who by virtue of being Bill's day man had become an expert, or at least more expert than me – came by to help me coerce my computer into producing a professional résumé, which turned out to be surprisingly easy once he showed me how to use the software Sam had put on there. Danny left with a warm apple pie as a thank you and I spent the afternoon researching college courses, trying not to feel daunted by the entry requirements and the cost. That evening I wrote cover letters for the companies I planned to visit the following day.

On Monday, I dressed smartly and left with a stack of resumes. I had my route all worked out. I stopped off at a couple places in Minden first. Visiting in person not only impressed potential employers, it allowed me to get a feel for the places with my telepathy, find out if the staff were happy or if the boss was a nightmare. I crossed off one place where the boss was way too interested in my chest and the receptionists were wary of being alone in his office with him.

I got to Shreveport mid-morning and my first stop was the admissions office for LSU. I was nervous but the lady who spoke to me, Carol, was lovely, very reassuring, both outwardly _and_ mentally. She really believed older students were more committed. She asked me a lot of pertinent questions.

Was I interested in a full degree? I wasn't sure. She saw my hesitancy and suggested taking some placement tests. If I had the aptitude I could enrol part-time, take a few courses and see how I got on. She was sure I'd surprise myself.

What courses was I interested in? I figured business or accounting given my experience, maybe some computing. She nodded, saying those things were very popular. Then she pointed out I could take courses in other areas too, rattling off a long list. She noticed my eyes light up when she got to psychology. I'd lingered over the course description online the day before, thinking of Tara and the insight my gift gave me into the way people thought. She pointed out that psychology combined well with business and I could always switch if I found it interesting.

Would I prefer evening and online courses? She grinned when my face lit up at the thought of studying at home in peace and quiet. How many hours could I commit to study? Would I need to work? I'd figured out my fairy funds would just stretch to cover full-time studying, but I preferred fewer classes combined with a part-time job so I wasn't living hand to mouth again.

The earliest I could enrol would be the fall term, starting in August.

I left with an appointment to take the placement tests a few days later, while my shields were still strong, and a pile of forms to fill in. The options pencilled in for if I passed: a basic online accountancy course that should be easy given what I'd learnt working at Merlotte's, and two introductory evening courses in business and psychology.

I sat in the car beaming with excitement. I was really going to do this.

I glanced at the pile of résumés on the passenger seat. What I needed was a well-paying job for the next few months, then something part-time when classes started. Sure, I had the money from my share of Merlotte's, but I wanted to put that by for emergencies, not live off it. And I needed the contact with other people.

I ate at that fancy Italian place I liked, flipping through my cover letters before my food came, ridiculously pleased that the waiter assumed I was a business woman working through lunch. After that I drove all over, dropping off résumés and checking out receptionists' opinions of their bosses.

I got home about five. I was opening the back door when a low whistle from the trees had me turning round. I identified Margaret by her mind as she stepped into view. She was polite enough not to sneak up on me. I appreciated that.

"Hi Margaret. What can I do for you?"

"Hello Sookie. You had a busy day today."

I grinned. "Didn't lose you did I?"

She grinned back. "Nope. I wouldn't let Jack drive. Guess you've got plans though."

"Oh... yes. Nothing definite yet." I didn't want to jinx it.

"LSU is a great school. You'll do well."

I flushed. "Um, thanks. I'm not counting my chickens yet."

She cocked her head. "That why you're looking for work too?"

"Oh, sort of. Something to tide me over until classes start. Daytime I hope. Um, is that going to be a problem?" I asked warily. I hated that the whole guard situation might limit my plans.

She shrugged. "I don't think so. Does Pam know yet?"

"I'm seeing her tonight."

"We'll work something out, don't worry." She nodded goodbye, and headed off into the woods.

I went inside, put dinner in the oven and relaxed in the tub while it cooked, tired but pleased with the day's achievements. I was ready to leave for Shreveport again by eight, hoping jeans and a t-shirt were what Pam meant by comfortable clothes.

I had no idea where we were going. We'd spoken briefly on Sunday evening but Pam refused to give me any hints. I'd pointed out an evening of mayhem and bloodshed didn't appear anywhere on my bucket list. She'd chuckled that things had been too quiet without me.

When I parked on her drive, Pam came out wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket. I relaxed; I was appropriately attired.

"Hello, Sookie," she said as she got in.

"Hi Pam. Mind telling me where we're going?"

She grinned. "Not so fast. I'll give you directions."

I filled her in on my plans while I drove. She was encouraging about LSU. As for working in Minden or Shreveport, she only wanted to know where so she could vet the locations. I was relieved: I was prepared to be flexible on where I worked, but I wasn't willing to compromise on my dreams of education. Not again.

We headed west through Shreveport, then turned off the main route into a wooded area that ran alongside the expressway. The long straight road that ran through it was unlit and with no other traffic in sight, I cracked a joke. "Pretty quiet out here. Planning on hiding a body, Pam? If I'd known, I'd have put the shovels in the trunk."

Pam smirked fangily. I knew that would appeal to her.

She had me turn onto a dirt road that ended in a badly-lit parking lot hidden in the trees. The lot served a hangar-style building with a single dim light burning over a side door. There were no signs or markings to clue me in on what was inside. If it wasn't for a few parked cars and the reassuring hum of a half dozen brains inside, the place would have unnerved me. I shot a querying glance at my fanged friend.

"You'll see," she said, still smirking.

When we got to the side door, she rapped on it and a grill opened. Pam said, "Mark."

"Sheriff," said a deep voice in reply. His mind was red and snarly. Werewolf.

The door opened.

Hubba. Hubba.

That was all I could think, until I blinked and sucked back the drool threatening to ruin Mark's first impression of me.

Mark worked out. A lot. He was broad shouldered and his chest strained the faded green t-shirt he wore, a t-shirt that revealed a pair of coffee-coloured arms like knotted tree trunks. With tattoos. That didn't detract from the man's appeal at all. The way the ink stretched when he moved completely distracted me as he led us inside.

He said we had the place to ourselves apart from a game upstairs, but I was barely listening. Pam shot me an amused look and I gave myself a severe dressing-down for objectifying the poor man. I'd hardly spared his face a glance, just enough to appreciate his thick brown hair, blue eyes, and the dimples he flashed when he smiled at Pam.

He opened a door and led us into … Oh. A shooting range.

I turned to Pam with wide eyes. I'd promised to teach her to shoot years ago. We'd messed around with a shotgun, shooting cans off logs in my yard, the way I'd learnt. I'd never been to a proper range. "You need a refresher or something?"

Pam's eyes twinkled. "Oh no. Mark here is an excellent teacher. I took him for a test drive as it were, before I put him in charge of training your guards, keeping their skills fresh. Tonight... I thought you might enjoy a little competition."

"What sort of competition?"

"Between you and me. We'll see if the student has surpassed the master." She gave me a mocking bow.

I snorted. "Hardly seems fair, bloodsucker."

Her mouth twitched. "Oh, don't worry, breather. You'll have easier targets. And Mark will give you some instruction with handguns before we start."

"Okay. You're on."

I enjoyed it immensely. Shooting paper targets was much more entertaining than shooting people, no moral dilemmas or gore involved. Mark supplied us with miked headsets that enable us to talk despite the heavy ear protection, so we kept up a stream of banter trying to psyche each other out. Pam had smaller and more distant targets, and we mixed it up, using different guns and even moving targets by the end. Pam's moved faster, naturally.

The instruction part of the evening was definitely fun too. Mark's body pressed close to mine as he corrected my stance, enveloping me in warmth and that musky smell of man. Yum. Even with that distraction Pam was right, he was a good teacher. I acquitted myself creditably and, much to Pam's annoyance, I even beat her a few times.

It wasn't until we'd finished that I discovered Pam had ulterior motives.

Grinning because I won the last bout, I pulled off my headset and fluffed out my hair. I turned when I heard Pam ask, "She was better with the Beretta?"

"Yep," said Mark, looking over the target sheets. "'Specially with a moving target."

"Good. Ammo as well, please."

"Um, Pam?" I asked. "What's going on?"

She eyed me for a second, waiting for Mark to leave before she spoke. "Guns have their uses. Having one in your car might not have stopped Lattesta last year, but there are situations where one could make all the difference."

"Pam, I don't think–"

"Sookie," she interrupted firmly, "you don't have to use it, but it would be prudent to have one. As a backup, in case the guards lose you again."

I thought about Debbie Pelt. I'd been glad of my shotgun that night, but I didn't enjoy killing. I'd mostly done it in self-defence and even then each life I'd taken had left me with lingering regrets.

"I would suggest a silver knife as well, knowing how effective you are with one." She winked at me as she referred to dispatching Bruno and his friend in the pouring rain. I shuddered at the memory. "But currently the most likely aggressors are the Chosen and bullets will be quite adequate for stopping them."

"Currently? Are they after me again?"

She shrugged. "I don't have any information that they're targeting you specifically, but there have been some … incidents over the winter. In Georgia and here. It would be wise to assume you may be targeted. They have shown interest in you before. And a hand gun would be practical. You can't fit a shotgun in a glove compartment."

I looked at the black, cold lump of metal sitting on the counter. Instead of a tool, a piece of sports equipment, it had just morphed into a deadly weapon. A way to end a life.

Or protect mine. I sighed heavily. "Okay. But I won't use it unless I absolutely have to."

"Good."

My fun evening had turned unexpectedly serious. Pensively biting my lip, I was barely aware I was missing another opportunity to ogle the eye candy when Mark came back with several boxes of ammo and a case for the Beretta I'd been using. He packed it away efficiently, casting a glance or two at Pam.

Glances that, coming out of my dark thoughts, I finally noticed.

Glances that had a certain vibe.

Oh. _Oh_.

I felt myself begin to flush. Oh dear. That warm knot of lust I'd felt from him when he brushed my bare arm earlier – boy, had I misinterpreted that.

Pam looked curiously at me as she thanked him. "I'll walk you out Sookie."

I looked everywhere but at either of them. "Sure. Thanks for the lesson, Mark."

"No worries." He pulled out a card. "Any time you want another, give me a call."

Face warm, I stuttered out another thank-you as I took the card. I grabbed Pam's arm and practically frogmarched her outside. Once we were in the lot I hissed, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" She was amused and she knew damn well exactly 'what'.

"That you and," I waved dramatically at the building, "Mr Bow-flex in there," I trailed off, searching for a suitable euphemism, finally adding lamely, "have something going on."

Pam smirked. "And?"

"I just spent the last hour flirting with him!"

"Dropping that empty clip wasn't an accident?" she drawled, rolling her eyes. "I'd never have guessed."

"But … There is something between you, right?" If she was yanking my chain I was gonna be using my new Beretta real soon.

She shrugged. "We were lovers for a while, the fall before last."

I gaped. Lovers? Pam never called her … diversions that. Usually she called them playmates. Miriam, yes, but they'd been serious. And Mark was so, so … Well, not anything like Miriam that was for damn sure. As far as I knew, Pam's occasional forays into straight sex involved geeky guys like Stan Davis, so imagining her with someone like Mark threw me for a loop. Although maybe that was the point, maybe she'd wanted someone who wouldn't remind her of Miriam in any way, a polar opposite.

Her brow wrinkled. "If you're interested, I could put in a good word. Mark is not as rough as he looks, and he has very talented–"

"Pam!" I yelped. "No. Just no. Friend's exes are off limits."

"They are?

"Yes Pam, they are."

"I wouldn't object. Although I was wondering if he'd be interested in an encore tonight. He really is quite skilled."

"No. Friends don't make moves on each other's guys. And I certainly don't want details."

She eyed me. "It's not the first time we have tasted the same man. Although after my Maker, Mark might seem a little deficient in the stamina department."

I felt my flush return with a vengeance at her reference to Eric. All the way to my hairline. I was out of practise dealing with her frank attitude to things I considered private.

I turned away and marched over to my car, ignoring the quiet chuckle behind me. As I pulled out my keys, I noticed a parked car that had arrived while we'd been inside. A car with two pale occupants. One of them raised a hand in greeting. Thalia.

Was she grinning?

I groaned and cursed their damn vampire super-hearing. She could probably see my face glowing too.

Pam followed me to the car. I glared at her and her amused expression, snatching the gun and ammo from her to stow them in the trunk. She raised an eyebrow. I gestured towards Thalia and her pal, far more deadly than bullets.

She nodded. "Fair enough. It needs to be in the car tomorrow, though."

"Fine."

"Teasing aside, I enjoyed your company tonight, Sookie."

I slammed the trunk shut and looked at her. She was serious. "Me too, Pam. Even if you had my security in mind, it was a fun evening."

No prizes for guessing who taught her that trick, killing two birds with one stone. That reminded me of what Sam told me. Realising I was about to ask a question that might ruin the mood, I sighed. "Pam, have you ever planted bugs at my house?"

She frowned and glanced towards Thalia before stepping closer. "Explain."

"Sam told me a few days ago that he found bugs in my car and at the house, back when," I hesitated, not wanting to bring up a sore point, but pressed on, "Karin was around. Sam got rid of them, but whoever planted them came back and planted two more. At night. He couldn't tell who it was."

"And nothing since then?"

"He never found any others."

She looked relieved. "The team sweep for them regularly. They haven't found any by the house since the wards went up."

I cocked my head. "But they found some somewhere else?"

Pam nodded. "Your car came back from Shreveport infested a few times. We moved the devices to other random vehicles and it stopped eventually. And we found a few at Merlotte's when you were first married."

I chewed that over. Pam clearly wasn't the culprit, but I had to ask. "Those first ones weren't Karin?"

Pam said slowly, "She never said anything. She had free roam of the woods. If they were hers, she would have known the shifter had interfered. She would have mentioned that to me, if not the bugging itself."

So who was it? I couldn't see the weres or the fairies using bugs and their attacks came later. As a tactic it seemed too indirect for the Fellowship and their hangers on.

But not for someone old and patient. "Vampire?"

Pam nodded slightly. "Or agents of. The ones on your car were planted during the day."

I groaned and slumped against the car. That meant de Castro. Or Freyda. Or any number of powerful vamps who desired their own telepath.

"This is old news Sookie, not a recent problem. The team knows what to look for." Pam tilted her head slightly, glancing towards the building momentarily. Then she focused back on me. "Bill's been calling on you."

I frowned. Why was everyone so damn interested in Bill's wanderings? Heck, it was like he'd announced his nightly strolls in the paper or something.

She glanced towards the building again. "I expected he would, in light of the new situation."

I opened my mouth to say … I wasn't sure what. That Bill surely wasn't interested in planting his flag as soon as Sam was out the door. Except that I wasn't real sure why he had paid me a visit. Twice. But if he was after rekindling something with me, why hadn't he been back once the divorce became a reality?

The sound of laughter and voices made me turn towards the building. The door opened, spilling light and bodies out into the lot. A mix of humans and twoeys, joking good naturedly with each other. Reading one of the regular guys told me they'd just finished their weekly poker game. Parting comments were made, car doors slammed and engines started. None of them gave us a second glance.

Pam was looking towards the pickup left by the door. And Mark, who was locking up.

I sighed softly. "He's interested in that encore."

She quirked an eyebrow.

I tapped my temple.

"Ah."

I smiled. "Have fun."

"Oh, I will." She winked and gestured for me to get in the car.

Thalia's car pulled out after mine, leaving Pam and Mark alone in the lot.

On the journey home, I tried not to begrudge Pam her fun or worry about the bugs. For a millisecond I wondered if Sam had been right, if I wasn't happier in the dark. Then I shook myself. I was done hiding my head in the sand. I was going to be the one in control of my life from now on.

…

That attitude propelled me through three job interviews in the next three days, giving me the confidence to turn down the offer that didn't feel right and take the one that did.

That was how I ended up commuting to Minden on Friday, excited to start working nine-to-five at 'Fredericks, Golding & Partners', a local insurance company. It was a temporary position, fitting in with my college plans nicely, and the place seemed perfect. Pam had okayed it too; the office was small and easy to watch.

The office girls – Melissa, Leanne and Jody – were covering for a fourth, who was on maternity leave, and they needed an extra pair of hands, a dogsbody. Covering simple tasks where I was needed meant my lack of appropriate experience was less important than my willingness to work hard.

The office manager who'd interviewed me, Pauline, was a serious, efficient woman with short grey hair. She was predisposed to favour an older woman like me as the previous girl, fresh out of high school, had proved more of a hindrance than a help, and had left on short notice. Pauline was desperate to replace her. Consequently the pay was generous, and I had some insight into how high Pauline was willing to go when I negotiated.

I wasn't above using what I picked out of her head to make sure I was paid fairly.

Leanne, who worked full-time, was in the office when I interviewed. She was early twenties, mousy, with a pleasant face and a gentle disposition. She genuinely thought the best of people and she was one of the reasons I took a liking to the place. When my shields returned to normal, her thoughts would be inoffensive.

I met Melissa, who worked three days a week, on my first day. She was mixed race, slim, attractive and confident. She dressed well, worked hard and didn't suffer fools. When I picked up the filing system quickly, she muttered that at least I wasn't as dim-witted as the last girl. She was a student, studying Art History at LSU, and sharp as a whip. My telepathy told me that underneath her brash confidence she was insecure, worried about making ends meet and about a boyfriend who wasn't ready to commit.

My first day went great. I was thrilled. That weekend I took my placement tests for LSU and sailed through them. I made sure to mention that and my wonderful new job to my friends in Bon Temps so they could congratulate me.

Monday was a new day at the office.

I met Jody.

Jody had been on vacation the previous the week. She was small, dark-haired and sharp-featured. She was a little older than the others, had worked there longest and, not to put too fine a point on it, was a two-faced bitch. Not that I'd know that if I couldn't hear her cruel mental commentary. She didn't compound that with laziness thankfully, working just as hard as Melissa. So that was something.

It wasn't all women. Mr Fredericks, the boss, was a compact, precise man who was always meticulously groomed and dressed. In his fifties with greying black hair, he was distant and formal with the office girls, but he didn't interacted with them much, often out visiting clients or sticking to his office when he wasn't. His partner Mr Golding was the opposite. A kind and portly old man whose suits were rumpled, he always stopped to make small talk with us 'gals' on his way in and out.

Then there was Trent, the guy who delivered our mail.

He was mid-twenties, slim, tall, dark and drool-worthy. There was a lot of hair flipping when he arrived, and a lot of sighing when he left. Even from Pauline, in her fifties.

I found myself fantasising about him three times in one morning. I shook it off. There was little point as he barely noticed me. Dipping in to his mind, I'd seen first-hand how his eyes slid straight over me to linger on Melissa. She, of course, wasn't interested in him. Wasn't that always the way?

It would never work anyway. Human. Touch. I wondered idly if I could borrow one of those fancy necklaces from Pam to block Trent's thoughts and imagined that conversation: Trent, I need to you put this on before we have sex. 'This' being a gold pendant worthy of the term bling, not a condom. I almost laughed out loud at the ridiculous idea. Oh gosh, he'd think I had some strange kink about rappers. No, Trent was not for me. He was too young, I told myself firmly.

Staring dreamily after him the next day, I caught an eye roll from Melissa and shook myself harder. What was wrong with me? First Mark and now this boy.

I put it down to the oestrogen-rich environment and the fact that I'd been effectively single for over a month. My body hadn't gotten the divorce memo. I was craving a little attention, that was all.

That Thursday, my birthday, I got confirmation I'd passed the placement tests. I called Michele and Kennedy to squeal before I left for work and we made plans to celebrate my success and my birthday on the weekend.

Leanne came in to work with birthday cupcakes. I hadn't said anything; she'd spotted my birth date on my application. When Melissa heard that all I had planned was a quiet day with friends, she began coaxing me to go out with them that Friday night, to some new place in Bossier City.

I was new to working in an office, uncertain of the work at times, but enjoying the challenge. For the first time I'd found it easy to make friends with my co-workers, without the spectre of Crazy Sookie haunting me. It was refreshingly normal worrying whether I'd filed the Johnson account in the right place rather than whether I was going to blurt out someone's secrets.

Concern over what would happen when Eric's blood wore off had me sending up a prayer or two that my peace would last a little longer. I wanted to fit in, especially with Leanne and Melissa who I liked. I was different enough already being the new girl, and older, and divorced. Sure, Melissa mainly wanted to go out to forget her man troubles, but she also wanted to get to know me. We had hit it off and I had to admit I was flattered to be asked.

Why shouldn't I socialise with them? I was single. It would help me get to know them.

Melissa grinned when I suddenly caved and agreed to go, partly in defiance of Jody's mental scorn._ She's too old and prissy to party with us._

The flash of annoyance in Jody's hard eyes might have given me pause if Leanne hadn't lit up with the first beaming smile I'd seen from her. She thought it would be lovely to have me to talk to while the others were busy.

That should have clued me in to exactly how hard Melissa and Jody partied.

…

The evening after my thirty-second birthday, at nine o'clock sharp, I arrived at the club. Blue.

Yep, just one word. Blue. Like Madonna.

The lot was half full. I parked and sat in the car, nervously eyeing the distinctly younger crowd congregating around the entrance. The rather traditional dress I'd chosen would just about fit in, I reckoned. It was pale blue, a flattering fit on top, and the soft skirt swirled just right for dancing.

I looked around a few times but I didn't spot the girls.

I was about to resort to a mental sweep when Melissa knocked loudly on my window, grinning when I jumped. I chastised her amicably as I got out of the car.

She was dolled up to the nines: hair up, false eyelashes and glitter on her cheeks. Her short gold dress clung to her curves and she was confident, graceful even, in her dangerously high heels. I felt Leanne's shy admiration for Melissa as we hugged our hellos. Leanne was wearing a flowing green dress that flattered her figure, which tended to huskiness. She pulled nervously at the scooped neckline, feeling exposed.

"Wow, Melissa, you look great," I said, knowing that Melissa needed to hear that just as much as Leanne. She wasn't as confident as she looked. I turned and said genuinely, "You too, Leanne. I just love that dress, where did you get it?"

"Oh, I made it myself," she mumbled in a rush.

"Really? It's lovely." Leanne was blushing, struggling with the praise, otherwise I would have gushed some more. I dipped into her head briefly as I added, "You've got a real talent there."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard that, but she dismissed it as politeness. Lingering in her mind to find out why, I got a glimpse of her mom and a tangle of regret that she'd never become a seamstress. Her mom was sick. Leanne had given up her dream, working to pay for her treatment. I held back a sigh and covered up my sudden rush of sympathy by scrambling in my purse for my keys and turning to lock my car. I had a cheerful smile in place when I turned back around.

"There you are." Jody called from two cars over. Her bright red wrap-around dress set off her dark hair nicely, but it made her figure look as skinny and bony as it was. "Come on, we need to get in line."

We chatted while the line shuffled forward. Melissa and I discussed a movie we'd seen, with Leanne adding a quiet comment or two. Jody rolled her eyes at us and muttered we'd better not talk like that all night, she wanted to have fun.

_That sort of boring talk is why y'all are still single_, she thought snidely. She proceeded to ignore us, opting to make eyes at a guy in line ahead of us. A guy whose girlfriend gave Jody plenty of stink-eye back, but that didn't put Jody off one bit.

Inside the club, almost everything was blue. Yes, it really was – the lights, the décor, even some of the drinks. Someone had picked a theme and stuck with it. Even the layer of mist blanketing dance floor was tinted blue by the lights. Dry ice; there was an unexpected comeback. I thought that had gone out with bad eighties haircuts and shoulder pads.

Not that I was old enough to remember those. Not quite. And there were definitely people my age in the club. Definitely.

The bar was already busy. Melissa shouldered her way to the counter and fluttered her caterpillar eyelashes, coming back with tall glasses of some blue drink that tasted like soda. I sipped mine cautiously. It didn't taste strong. When Jody got bored of yelled conversation and wanted to dance, I gulped it down in a rush to join her.

Clubbing had never been my idea of a good time. With my telepathy I'd never been able to give it a shot comfortably, but for once I was at ease in the crowd, my stronger shields making even the packed dance floor bearable. The longer I danced the more I relaxed.

I began to enjoy myself. I loved to dance. The music was catchy, the beat easy to move to. It was great to let loose for once.

When we took a break, Jody bought a round of shots. I threw mine back with abandon, making up for lost time, those partying years I'd missed out on. A second spin on the floor and we attracted some attention from a table of college boys.

It was my turn to fight my way to the bar. When I got back, I was so thirsty I gulped down my iced tea before I realised the bartender had given me a Long Island. I shrugged, enjoying the buzz. I figured that dancing would burn the alcohol off soon enough. I hadn't intended to drink much, but I could always call a cab if I had to and my shields were holding just fine. God bless Eric's blood.

A few shots and dances later, Jody and Melissa began a competition over who'd go home with the most gorgeous frat boy. I should have been shocked. Instead I was annoyed that I wasn't even considered in the running. Leanne saw my frown and leaned over to whisper-yell in my ear.

"Don't worry Sookie. We'll keep an eye on them. Thank goodness you and me are sensible, hey?" Leanne was determinedly responsible. She'd only had one alcoholic drink.

I leant over. "There's nothing wrong with having a little fun, Leanne."

She frowned. "I guess. I just worry about them."

She was hoping she wouldn't have to worry about me too. I snorted. She needn't bother. I was pretty sure I could handle a few overenthusiastic frat boys. In fact, I wanted to handle that one with the dirty blonde hair and the soulful blue eyes. And damn it, why shouldn't I?

I stood up and marched straight over to his table, full of confidence. I heard Jody gasp behind me and Melissa whistle encouragement. I practically dragged the guy to the floor. He was a good dancer, even if he was too shy to look higher than my shoulder. At least he wasn't fixed on my cleavage.

Unfortunately, touching him revealed he had a girlfriend, one he was real sweet on. When the song was over I let him go back to his friends, watching his tight jeans wistfully. I turned back to our table, expecting some sort of teasing.

None of them were looking my way.

Jody was stalking away towards the bar. Leanne was getting to her feet uncertainly, looking nervously between Jody's retreating back and Melissa, who was tense and unhappy. A guy, dark-skinned and young, was leaning over Melissa, talking earnestly and animatedly. Leanne scurried after Jody as I approached our table, concerned for my new friend.

"Hey, Melissa. Is this guy bothering you?"

She sighed heavily and stood up. "Jonah, give us a minute would you?" She took my arm and pulled me in the direction of the restrooms where it was quieter. I got the gist when she touched me. Jonah was the on-again-off-again boyfriend who'd been jerking her around for six months. He'd just made an urgent plea for them to get back together. She was undecided, tempted but irritated that he always managed to turn up just when she'd decided to move on.

"Sookie. That's my … my ex that might not be so ex. I have to sort this out with him. I feel real bad about taking off on your first night out with us."

"Oh, don't worry about that. You do what you've got to do."

"Thanks. Look, keep an eye on Leanne will you? She's so naive it scares me."

"Sure. Will do."

"And be careful around Jody. She had her eye on that guy you just danced with."

I shrugged. "Don't worry. I can look after myself."

We made our way back to the table where another round of shots was waiting. Jody was all smiles, brittle predatory ones, and Leanne looked about ready to cry. After some apologising and goodbyes, Melissa took off with Jonah.

I brushed across Leanne's mind and saw that Jody had been flirting hard with Jonah while Melissa and I were gone. Leanne had been real uncomfortable with the situation. When Jonah shot Jody down, she'd been madder than a wet hen. Lashing out at the weakest target, as all bullies do, Jody had let loose her sharp tongue on Leanne, criticising her 'homespun' dress, and her figure, asking if she was intent on dying alone in a house full of cats.

Vicious cow.

Leanne just wanted to go home and curl up in a corner.

I picked up a shot and threw it back, never breaking eye contact with Jody as she did the same. Bitch had hurt my friend. Then I leant over to Leanne and said kindly, "Why don't you go home, honey? Me and Jody can look after each other, right Jody?"

It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Leanne let me walk her out to her car. She was sober enough to drive, but she made me promise not to let Jody drive home drunk, which she'd been known to do.

So Jody was senseless and selfish, as well as vindictive. I can't say as I was surprised.

As I went back into the club, I wobbled on my heels. The fresh air hadn't dulled my buzz at all, but my shields were still – what was that phrase form that cartoon?

"My wings are like a shield of steel," I intoned with a giggle, earning a strange look from the bouncers as I passed.

No sense of humour, those guys. And no necks, which was decidedly weird. I shrugged off the stray thought and slapped on my game face.

Jody was waiting at the table with more shots and a challenge in her eyes. I brushed her fingers deliberately as she handed me a shot glass of something green.

_... drink an old lady like you under the table. And no way are any of those fine boys going home with a clapped-out divorcee like you._

I snorted. I was damned if I was going to back down. She was barely four years younger than me and didn't look half as good. Not unless flat-chested bitchy skeletons were to a guy's taste. I downed the shot defiantly, followed by the red one waiting on the table.

We took to the dance floor. I lost myself in the music, losing track of Jody after a few songs too. Not that I cared. She could get off with dirty-blond if she wanted. I'd find someone else. Someone better. I'd show her.

I deserved a little fun.

It didn't really matter who with. Ships in the night, no regrets. Maybe that redhead who couldn't take his eyes off me. Or his friend, tall and dark. I danced my ass off for them, spinning and shaking my hips. Mr Tall and Dark finally grew a pair and joined me. We danced hot and close for a while, touching with only briefly, but enough for me to feel empowered by his rising interest.

He made a move, grabbing my wrist. His fingers gripped hard and I got a rapid reel of disturbing images and gasped in shock. I tried to pull away but he pulled me closer, whispering something crude and disgusting in my ear. I pulled away from him again and this time he let go, his eyes widening as he looked over my shoulder.

I staggered backwards into something solid and a large pair of hands settled on my hips, steadying me. Mr Creepy, formerly Mr Tall and Dark, melted into the crowd faster than butter on a hot ear of corn.

Before I could turn to thank my rescuer, a very familiar voice whispered in my ear: "Good evening, Sookie."

"Eric!" I squealed.

I whirled around so fast that he blinked. I giggled, pleased I'd surprised him for once, and slipped my arms around his waist to hug him. "What's a vampire like you doing in a place like this?"

He smiled faintly. "Would you believe Pam sent me to check out the competition?"

"Oh honey." I licked my lips. "There's no competition here."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Dance with me?" I asked, beginning to sway, deliberately rubbing up against his hard body.

...

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><p><strong>AN:** Yes, yes I did just leave it there. But the next chapter is Eric's POV.

I suspect that doesn't make it any easier to wait a week, but at least you've got that to look forward too.


	6. Blue

Thanks for the reviews, and a special thank you to Sephora and other guest reviewers as I can't reply to them. Here's this weeks much awaited chapter. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>6: Blue.<strong>

* * *

><p>I swung the Corvette around a sharp bend, grinning as her tires squealed. I missed this, the thrill of speeding through the night alone. The Corvette was too distinctive, too well-known. I'd left it behind, knowing I would be back in Shreveport, however briefly, to touch base with Pam.<p>

Last night Pam mentioned a nightclub in Bossier City that she wanted to check out, but she was bogged down with sheriff duties. I offered to scope the place. A new club was hardly a threat to Fangtasia, successfully relaunched in Pam's capable hands, but it gave me a pretext to get out of her hair. I didn't want to be that maker, the one that watched over his child like a hawk.

Not that Pam would hesitate to tell me if I was cramping her style.

Tonight was a rare opportunity to indulge myself. Snatching a spare hour, I was driving my favourite route: out by the Red River, on backwoods roads that twisted and turned. As the trees flickered past in the headlights, I mulled over the last six months, and my new allies.

Integration was key to our survival. Bartlett Crowe had impressed me with his insight into human politics and his willingness to consider any strategy, no matter how bold, to further that goal. I hadn't been exposed to him much before. I liked what I saw so far.

Stan Davis had similar goals, but proposed more cautious means. Whereas Bartlett was dispassionate about the predictable backlash against us since the Revelation, Stan was less objective and often resentful. Understandably so, after the attack on his nest in Dallas and others in his state since. Stan disliked 'pandering to the cattle' as he put it when he was in a foul mood, but the ongoing Fellowship problems in Texas forced him to face the necessity of doing exactly that.

Bartlett argued for deep, substantial changes, not just in the way we interacted with humans, but ultimately in the way we dealt with our own, even hinting at reforms of the hierarchy. Stan, although younger, was more old-school. He favoured cosmetic changes to appease the humans, leaving vampire matters mostly untouched and out of the spotlight.

If Stan and Bartlett were political dynamos, beneath his flamboyant exterior Russell was a shrewd tactician in his own right, as he'd proved at Nadia's trial. His opinion varied with the issue. He favoured curbing violence to meet human laws, but a laissez faire approach to our more pleasurable interactions with humans. Isabel was still finding her feet in Oklahoma and favoured Stan's slower, moderate changes.

There were tensions in the group, disagreements, but remarkably little posturing or petty feuding.

It made politicking almost pleasant.

There was something though, something about Bartlett that had gnawed at me. Spending more time with him had crystallised it into a hunch, one I confirmed with Rory's assistance a month ago.

...

Bartlett invited me to his Eagle Creek residence, in Indianapolis. Located in a secure gated community, the large house was surrounded by thick woods. It was one of Bartlett and Russell's favourite retreats, secluded and private. Isabel couldn't make it, but Stan and Russell were there to hash out some long term strategies.

The local sheriff had been injured, giving Rory a convenient excuse to come along. Not so convenient for the sheriff – Rory commanded a fat fee. Bartlett offered Rory the use of one of his biotech facilities for the healing, as long as he and Russell could observe. They were curious about Rory's ability.

In return, I asked if Rory could accompany me to Bartlett's afterwards, Rory joking apprehensively about nests of vipers.

Naturally, Bartlett was wary of her loose in his home and I vouched for her.

Naturally, he agreed to show he trusted me.

Rory brought a chair for the healing, a heavy contraption with padded silver manacles and chains, very Inquisitorial. The young sheriff hesitated when she saw it, but allowed Rory to strap her into it. Her injured hand was left free, and submerged in a bowl of blood on the table next to her. A feeding tube ran from a canister of blood to her mouth.

The sheriff yelled when Rory started. Russell turned to me in question.

I shrugged. "It is painful."

He glanced back at the sheriff. "With your injuries, how did you …?"

"Ah. A somewhat larger receptacle." I didn't add that Rory had used fae blood. She wanted that kept quiet. Re-growing half a hand required less oomph, and Rory estimated werewolf blood would be adequate for the task.

Safer for Rory too.

The sheriff was pleased with the result. Rory played up her weakness, slumped in a chair. She agreed to the deception readily, not minding if vampires overestimated how drained healing left her. We relocated to Bartlett's house and I carried Rory to her room. It connected to mine, and in the bathroom, amongst her toiletries, she had a vial of her tonic. She took it into the shower and I left her to 'recuperate'.

Downstairs the kings were discussing donors, a less sensitive topic while Rory was around.

Public interest in the way vampires treated those willing, and unwilling, to feed us had reached fever pitch. The BSA were breathing down our necks. Pressure to regulate was mounting, and it was vital we influenced any laws.

That had been the beauty of Fangtasia. Willing humans came to us and, provided vampires exercised common sense and restraint, accidents were few. Vampires were fed, humans had their walk on the wild side and we got richer.

That model had run its course. With Bartlett's encouragement, I was trialling a system of vetted donors and tighter controls. Russell hated the idea. Bartlett was reserving judgement until I'd worked out the kinks. He asked me to report.

I tested my hunch a few hours later, while we were relaxing by the outdoor pool.

I'd discarded several scenarios that might provoke Bartlett into revealing himself. Reciprocating Russell's outrageous flirting was out. If Bartlett had a jealous streak, I had no desire to witness it directed at me. Nothing that would make him doubt my loyalty, either. I picked something safe, something subtle, personal. A simple ruse.

Rory was sitting poolside with Russell, discussing southern France. Stan, Bartlett and I were in the pool some way away, idly discussing investments.

Rory was flawless, pulling off a fang-enticing combination of skittishness and bravado. Not so much of an act perhaps. She _was_ socialising with four powerful vampires, three of whom believed she was fae, able to suppress her scent but still a tasty snack.

Luckily, her abilities made her blood more useful inside her body than out.

Russell's voice floated over: "... smell of lavender and the sea."

"Oh yes," Rory replied. "Provence is such a delight, so _sensual_."

"Quite. A feast for the senses, n'est-ce pas?" Russell leaned in, winking at Rory.

Bartlett was surreptitiously watching them. I smoothed my hair back a certain way, giving Rory her cue. She played with her pendant, signalling she was ready.

I turned to Stan, asking about his oil refineries, but glancing Rory's way a few times, beginning my delicate misdirect for Bartlett. I had plenty of practice in such deceits with Ocella.

Russell delivered the punch line of a very risqué French joke. Rory laughed, delighted, and put her hand on his arm. I gave Bartlett his prompt.

As expected, he showed no outward reaction.

A few seconds later, Rory scratched her ear. Another prearranged signal. Mission accomplished. We behaved perfectly normally from then on and she left an hour later.

Once I got back on home turf, we met up. She assured me that all three kings seemed to trust me – something I hadn't asked her to find out – and that yes, she definitely felt a reaction from Bartlett.

"He was surprised. Very. But it was brief. In fact, his emotions were quite hard to read. Whether that's the way he is, or he has some idea of who I am and what I can do and was deliberately muting them, I don't know."

Oh, with what she'd just confirmed for me, he absolutely might have anticipated her ability. I smiled. "Well done."

"And?" she asked.

I shrugged.

She glared, incredulous. "You're not going to tell me?"

"No." Good. As I'd hoped, she'd been too focused on Bartlett to notice what I'd done to surprise him. If she'd picked up on it, she'd know exactly what I did about him.

"It's not something dangerous, something I should know?"

"No, not at all. It will give me an edge."

Her eyes narrowed. "Over Bartlett. Do you need one? He likes you."

"I may at some point. Liking someone means little to vampires. If he is aware of your empathy, he could have faked that."

She wrinkled her nose. "You vampires are as deceitful as the fae."

"Ouch." I pretended to wince.

She folded her arms. "Next time I won't help unless you play nice and share."

I grinned. Payback was delicious. "Whose curiosity is eating them alive now?"

She snorted. "Yours obviously ate out your heart centuries ago, dead man."

I laughed at her frustration, but I didn't tell her what I'd found out. I kept that to myself, planning to use it to my advantage when I dealt with Bartlett. My time with Ocella would be useful for that, too.

…

I drove into Bossier City, snorting when I saw the club.

Blue.

The neon sign. The paint covering the building.

A tacky gimmick, but one that pulled in trade judging by the parking lot, moderately busy for its size. The vehicles indicated youthful customers, a mix of college students and locals. Shouldn't pose a problem for Pam. The new Fangtasia was aimed at professional thirty-somethings with money to burn.

Inside, the place throbbed with music and shouted conversations. Amongst the usual human odours, I detected the scents of two weres and a vampire I didn't recognise. Probably here for fresh blood.

The bar was a decent length, but packed nonetheless. I made my way over, noting the dark corridor to the restrooms – a flashpoint for trouble and potential drug use – and the predominance of cocktails and hard liquor. The place catered to serious partying, hence the crowded bar.

The drinks would be strong and pricey, or cheap and watered down. Profitable either way, if the customers drank enough and the owners were prepared to clean up the inevitable vomit and fights.

That explained the bouncers' electric blue suits. Easy to spot.

I slipped into an opening at the bar. The female bartender looked me over, taking in my smart shirt and trousers, and decided to serve me next. Smirking, I asked for their trademark blue cocktail and left a twenty on the bar, not waiting for change.

Picking a quiet corner, I sniffed the foul-looking concoction cautiously. Not watered down. They were perhaps building a client base before they started that trick. Blue drinks were risky, though. Fangtasia never carried them because some of this century's Mickey Finns were dyed blue to make spiked drinks obvious.

There would be recreational drug users in this hedonistic crowd.

Unimpressed by Pam's competition, I stepped out of the corner, intending to rid myself of the cocktail before I left. That was when I smelt her.

Sookie.

I froze briefly, and continued forwards to deposit the drink on a vacant table.

I knew she was back in Louisiana. Pam had mentioned it. I had restricted myself to asking, once, if Pam had her security in hand. We had not spoken of her further.

I wanted minimal involvement and had told Pam as much.

Six months ago, when Sookie left, I decided it was past time for me to move on. I'd broken the habit of thinking about her every dawn, a task made easier by the move, my new surroundings. When she did spring unbidden into my thoughts, I'd squashed them brutally, telling myself that even if she survived breaking the join, even if she returned, our paths had no reason to cross.

Reason and logic dictated that I should leave. At once.

But … I hadn't spotted that vampire.

Who might be a threat to her.

Or a guard, more logically.

I should stay long enough to be sure.

Moving to lean against a narrow pillar, I scanned the dance floor, searching for one of my kind in the crush. Instead, the crowd heaved and roiled and there she was, dancing with abandon in a pale blue dress.

An image of Rhodes flashed before me. I stopped myself taking a step towards her.

Desire trumped reason. Scanning half-heartedly, I kept looking back at her, distracted. She was a vision. The way she moved, sensuous, seductive, confident …

Ah.

She was putting on a show for two men at the edge of the dance floor. Older than the mostly college-age crowd, they were watching her intently, exchanging the occasional glance.

The taller one moved to join her and I looked away, searching for the other vampire in vain. No luck. It was too busy. I couldn't see anyone I recognised either. No-one in the crowd seemed to be with her. She had to be here with someone.

The song changed and my gaze was drawn inexorably back to her.

They were dancing very … close.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to watch. Witnessing this could be the final nail. Every bump, every grind, every glance burnt into me, telling me she wasn't mine, would never be mine again.

Finished. Over. Done.

He pulled her to him.

She struggled.

I was moving before I could think, slipping nimbly between the dancers to halt a step behind her, my fangs out menacingly.

He paled, his eyes widening in shock as he let her go. I caught her by the hips as she stumbled into me, retracting my fangs as the human backed into the crowd.

The vampire had given himself away too, darting rapidly through the throng towards her, a fraction after I had, behaving like the guard he obviously was. Our eyes met over her head and he nodded slightly, backing off respectfully. Short, dark hair, dark eyes, swarthy. I didn't know him, but he knew me.

Sookie was staring after her disappearing dance partner. I gave in to an impulse and bent down, my mouth by her ear. "Good evening, Sookie."

She squealed my name and whirled around.

I blinked. She was pleased to see me. Deliriously so. Hugging me, she asked what I was doing and I couldn't hide a wry smile as I answered I was checking out the competition.

For both Pam and myself apparently, but I kept that irony to myself.

Then she licked her lips suggestively and said…

What?

I held myself completely still as she swayed, her arms still around my waist. Shit. I could smell her. Her hair. Her. That damn dress: the same colour she wore at Rhodes, the neckline hinting at the delicious bounty below, the skirt swirling around her tanned legs.

She shimmied against me, grinning. "C'mon Eric. Dance with me."

I gave in. Slipping my arms around her, I began to move. Just a dance. One dance. She hummed and leaned into me, breathing deeply against my chest.

"You smell good," she murmured.

"So do you." It was out before I could stop myself. Fuck. I picked a safer subject as I steered us towards the edge of the floor. "Who are you here with? Tara?"

"No, no. Girls from work. They left. 'Cept Jody, but she's a bitch. Not a twoey, a regular bitch."

"Ah." I tried to put some space between us, but she moved closer. Impossibly close, wrapping her arms around my neck, rubbing against me in all the right places.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, mesmerising me as she stretched upwards. I lowered my face towards hers.

Just one taste. Her lips, her mouth…

No. Bad idea.

I pulled back, resisting when she tried to pull me down.

She got a devilish look in her eyes then. Her fingers began to wind into my hair and she pressed herself against me. She said in a singsong teasing voice: "Eric's feeling shy."

Then she wiggled her eyebrows at me and bounced up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips quick and hard against mine. Her warm breath fanned over me as she bounced back down, giggling.

I smelt alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

"Eric, baby," she purred. "Let's get out of here."

She was drunk. Very drunk.

Of course she was. Sookie never behaved like this. I'd let myself get wrapped up in her and missed it. I needed to get her out of the club. Humouring her, I smiled and bent to whisper in her ear. "Very well. Let's go."

She giggled and slid her hands down my chest, around my waist, giving my ass a squeeze before she let go. Definitely drunk. I slung my arm around her shoulders and began propelling her towards the entrance, flashing a look at the other vampire to indicate he should follow.

One of the bouncers stopped us at the door. "Miss, you know this guy?"

"Sure do," she chirped, patting my chest. "Know him _real_ well if you get my drift. Hey, why's your friend over there got no neck? Was he in some freak accident?"

"Sookie," I chided and rolled my eyes at the guy. "She's had a few too many."

"Yeah. I can tell."

He frowned, looking between us. I lost patience, about to catch his eyes, but then he shrugged and stepped aside. He obviously couldn't tell what I was or he would have been more suspicious. The way she was pressing herself against me probably convinced him I wasn't abducting her against her will.

Thankfully the parking lot was empty. She began to sway halfway across it. In the quiet I noticed her heartbeat was slowed too.

Ah.

I propped her carefully against the Corvette while I unlocked it, then swept her up and put her on the passenger seat. I leaned over her to slip the key into the ignition and had to catch the hand she ran up the inside of my thigh. "Patience, Sookie. Find us some music for the drive."

Pouting, she started fiddling with the radio. I shut the door gently and the vampire morphed out of the shadows as I turned around.

"Gerard LeFèvre, at your service." He bowed and I nodded, recalling Pam had mentioned a French vampire who could pass as a local Cajun. He certainly looked the part, dressed in denim and flannel.

"You are her guard tonight?"

He nodded and handed me a small purse. "Hers," he said, indicating the blonde struggling to remove her heels in the cramped front seat. "She left it on a table. I kept it safe."

"How many drinks has she had?"

"Eight since I took over at nine-thirty."

It was just shy of one o'clock. I'd never seen her have more than two or three in an evening. "Were the drinks out of your sight at any point?"

He froze. Good, he understood. "Merde! Yes. She came outside, to see one of the other women to her car. I came out too, naturellement." He gestured at the lot, indicating the risks it posed. "When she returned, the brunette had drinks waiting."

"Jody," I guessed.

"Oui."

"Is she still here?"

He gave a Gallic shrug.

"Are you alone tonight?"

"Oui."

Fine. Pam could deal with the bitch who was just a regular bitch. "I'll take care of this. Return to Bon Temps. She will be back there before dawn." He bowed. "Wait. Is her car here?"

"Oui."

"Drive it to Fangtasia first. Leave the keys with Pam." I fished them out of her purse for him. I got into the Corvette, wincing at Sookie's off-key singing. I handed her the purse and she stopped to root in it. A minute later we were on the road and I was on the phone.

"Pam. I'll be there in fifteen. I need your office and privacy. Clear the back entrance. Oh, and water. A large jug of iced water."

…

I willed the lights to change, removing Sookie's hand from my thigh for the fourth time. Thank fuck Fangtasia was only another five minutes away. It had been a long ten minutes in the car with her so far. Her behaviour amused me at first, but it had made me increasingly … tense.

"Why don't I help you with that," she purred reaching for my belt.

I caught her hand again. "Let's save the main course for somewhere … more comfortable."

She pouted. "It's a good job I know you're worth the wait, buster."

A second later she leant in and nuzzled my shoulder, running her hand across my chest, playing with the buttons on my shirt. I gritted my teeth, eyes on the lights. She got my shirt open enough to slip her hand inside, warm against my skin. The lights changed and I gunned the car forward, stifling a groan.

She was killing me.

I took the next right and she kissed up my neck, making me shudder. She sucked wetly on my ear and I felt it down to my toes. "Sookie," I growled.

She let go with a pop. "A girl could start thinking you're not interested."

"Driving," I said shortly.

"Don't care. Pull over." She nuzzled my neck again, raking her nails over my chest.

"A bed would be better," I said raggedly. It wasn't put on. Killing me.

"I don't much care where we do it, as long as we have sex."

She bit my neck lightly and my hands tightened on the steering wheel. Fuck. "Sookie…" I breathed. I tried again, louder. "Sookie. You don't want this."

She pulled back, scowling. "Yes, I do. I decided to pick someone. To scratch that itch. " She gestured wildly. "Y'know. Ships in the night, no regrets."

"You will regret this."

Her eyes narrowed and she sat back, folding her arms over her chest. "Not up for the job Northman?" Her eyes trailed down my torso. She shrugged. "Pity. Oh well, plenty more fish in the sea."

She turned to the door, reaching for the handle.

Shit. We were doing forty. I flipped the master switch and the locks snapped shut. My lips twitched in spite of myself. Whatever she'd drunk, it certainly hadn't quenched her fire.

She turned back to me, grinning. "Guess you just swallowed the bait, hook and all."

She slid back over, hands reaching for me. I resigned myself to more torture. Sweet, sweet torture.

…

I pulled up behind Fangtasia, tires screeching. Pam was waiting by the door.

I disentangled myself from Sookie and blurred around to her side of the Corvette, catching her as she stumbled out, barefoot. I steadied her while she leant back into the car to grab her heels and purse, feeling Pam's stare on my back.

Swinging Sookie up into my arms to spare her feet, I strode towards the door. She giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck, whispering in my ear.

Pam's eyebrows shot up when she caught what Sookie was murmuring.

Ignoring her, I swept inside. The waiting room was empty. Pam had done as I asked without needless questions, as usual. I went straight into her office, kicking the door closed before my extremely curious child could follow.

I sat Sookie on the couch and she patted the seat next to her. I poured a large glass of water from the jug on the table, handing it to her as I sat down.

"Drink this before we …" I couldn't bring myself to add something suggestive knowing it wasn't going to happen.

"Start sweatin'?" she offered, smirking. "Good plan."

She gulped the whole glass down, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand afterwards. I took the glass and leaned forward to refill it. My shirt gaped open, completely undone from the car ride. Sookie hummed appreciatively and ran a hand inside it, caressing my chest. My eyes fluttered closed when her nails grazed my nipple. Concentrating on willing my fangs to stay put, I almost crushed the glass.

"You're thirsty. Have another," I said hoarsely, thrusting it at her.

"Mmm. Sure am," she said, her eyes flicking down to my lap, her eyelids drooping. She licked her lips and I stifled another groan.

She drank the second glass more slowly. My fangs throbbed as I watched the movement of her throat. Once she finished, I pushed her gently down onto her back and pressed a kiss into her forehead. "I'll be right back."

"Hurry," she moaned, shifting under me.

Pam was waiting outside, face blank. I closed the door quietly behind me.

"I found her at Blue. Drunk. And drugged."

Her eyes widen. "Fuck. Should I call Ludwig?"

I shook my head. "It looks like a low dose of liquid E. The water will flush it out."

We had teething problems with that particular drug in the early days of Fangtasia, college kids taking it to make themselves more daring. Sookie was coherent and only slightly unbalanced, so she hadn't taken much. It usually wore off in a few hours. If it didn't, I'd have to find someone to watch her after dawn.

"That explains her ... friendliness," Pam commented.

"Yes." Her friendly hands. And mouth. And tongue. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. The sting thinned the haze of desire.

"Did she take it willingly?"

"I think not. Perhaps a co-worker, Jody. It could have been anyone." The dance partner if he'd had a chance. He was quick to flee and it would have certainly made her more … compliant. That thought chilled my blood.

"Fuck a zombie. Gerard. He's new, doesn't know her well. He might not have picked up on it."

"He lost sight of her drinks when she went out to the parking lot."

"Bloody hell," Pam growled. "Thalia was meant to be with him, but I called her here."

"Problems?"

"Dealt with," she said, flicking her hand dismissively.

"I'll sit with her until it's out of her system."

She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be out front."

She walked quickly towards the bar. I leaned against the door for a minute before I went back inside.

Sookie was asleep.

I was relieved and disappointed. It was always contradictions with her.

I fetched a pillow and blanket from Pam's boudoir and made her comfortable, monitoring her breathing. It, like her heartbeat, was only slightly slowed. The drug would be out of her system sooner rather than later. Reaching over, I carefully swept a curl of hair out of her eyes. She muttered and tugged the blanket around her shoulders. The movement drew my attention to her hand.

No rings.

And she was in Bossier City, looking for some ... action.

She'd certainly made quick work of ridding herself of Merlotte.

The thought didn't give me much comfort. Partly because the shifter and I were now members of a very exclusive club of ex-husbands, equally reluctant members I imagined, and partly because it wasn't in my nature to kick a whipped dog.

Sam Merlotte had certainly looked whipped when I saw him back in March.

…

Something had changed about Merlotte's. Not the sudden hush when I walked in, that was the same. I glanced around. Eight people. Pathetic. Monday was a quiet night, but not this quiet, not for the only bar in town. The hatch to the kitchen was shut. Now I was paying attention, the smell of food was old and fading.

Cataliades was right; the bar was dying on its feet. The lawyer had asked me to intercede to protect his client's investment. Sookie's investment. I assumed Niall had asked him to keep an eye on her affairs while she was gone.

I stopped in front of the bar. "Is Merlotte here?"

The woman – ah yes, Kennedy, handy with a shotgun – nodded. "I'll fetch him."

She didn't direct me to his office. When Merlotte appeared I understood why.

He was tense, his jaw tight and his eyes wary. Our interactions before Sookie left had been distinctly acrimonious, so that was no surprise.

The rest of his appearance was.

He was thinner, greyer, with an unhealthy sallow tint to his skin. A sour undertone of sickness lingered in his scent. The bartender didn't want me alone with him; he wasn't capable of defending himself.

From what Cataliades told me he'd been ill for some time. I deduced that was to do with the insidious fae magic between him and Sookie, but I wasn't privy to the details. Rory mentioned that Ludwig had discharged him three weeks ago. I expected to find him recovered. It must have been worse than I thought.

"Merlotte."

"Northman," he answered.

"I have business with you. Private business."

He hesitated and then gestured for me to lead the way. In his office, I took the lone guest seat, ignoring the two desk chairs. And the potted plant, the curtains, the cheerful paint. I knew whose touches those were. She'd made an impression on the room.

He had that much.

Merlotte took the seat behind his desk – the one without a plant, strewn with ledgers and papers.

"What do you want Eric?" he said belligerently. Nodding at the mess he added, "I'm busy."

"That is what I came for." He stiffened and I raised a hand to forestall his protests. "Cataliades asked me to intercede. Your mother was hostile when he offered his help."

He grimaced. "She's had a rough few months."

"Biting the hand helping you off the floor is foolish. Cataliades managed to look through some of that," I gestured at his desk, "before she threw him out."

He set his jaw. "I don't need any help. Things will be back on track soon."

"Really." I leant back and began inspecting my fingernails. "How soon?"

"None of your damn business."

I looked at him sharply. "I am making it my business. If you go under, people will suffer. Tenants out on the street, employees out of work, the community losing this place. They will blame you." And Sookie.

He scowled. "I don't need your help."

"This is not about you or your pride. You revealed yourself. You represent the two-natured to these people. Every negative event associated with one of you sticks in their minds, colours how they view your kind, makes them more likely to listen to the Fellowship's drivel. _That_ makes it my business."

He glared at me for a long minute, and then deflated, his indignation fading. He muttered sullenly, "Fine."

"Good. Cataliades suggested I look at the books for the duplexes as he already examined the ones for the bar."

He stiffened.

"Either show me the books or explain the problem. Do not waste my time."

He got up, muttering under his breath, and unlocked an old filing cabinet in the corner. He dumped four ledgers on the desk in front of me. I flicked through them quickly. Rents were low, but typical for a rural area, the maintenance bills weren't extravagant … Hmm.

"Do you own these units outright?"

He shook his head and wearily got up again. He opened the bottom drawer of the cabinet and pulled out some paperwork.

I looked over it and saw exactly what was sucking the life blood out of his businesses.

"This original loan," I tapped the page, "you were happy with the terms?"

"Didn't have much choice. Round here bank managers like to know your family six generations back, and if they don't …" He shrugged. "Some of us don't have centuries to steal a fortune."

I ignored the dig, pulling out another sheet. "You refinanced with the same bank?" He'd had someone separate the two businesses too.

"Yeah."

"You had been here some time by then, established yourself in the community." I raised an eyebrow. "Why are the terms worse?"

"It was after the Reveal."

"Because you're a shifter." Of course. Vampires had faced similar difficulties when we came out of the coffin.

He snorted. "They fed me some bullshit about bigger risks because the profits dipped when we had the protesters camped out front, but yeah. That."

"There was no other option? A shifter credit union perhaps?"

"You know we don't go in for organisation." He frowned. "Do vamps have a credit union?"

"There are some … mutual arrangements for loans, yes. With better terms than this." I tapped the papers again.

"So," he said reluctantly, "what can I do?"

His back must be hard against the wall to give in so quickly. But then, he had always been amenable to reason before the fairy magic messed with him.

I answered him bluntly. "You have several options. Sell the duplexes, but the market isn't particularly favourable and you need to cover the outstanding loan. Have a proxy buy them, pay off the loan, then refinance somewhere else at a better rate and buy them back. That will be tricky. The IRS or the Bureau might investigate – switching owners back and forth arouses suspicion. The simplest solution is to take on a partner, a cash investor, and refinance that way."

"I don't want your money."

"I didn't offer it," I said drily. "I could use my contacts to find an investor."

"I won't take vampire money."

"So I heard," I said, giving him a cold stare. Idiot. Picky beggars starved to death. Cataliades told me what his mother said about Sookie's _blood_ money.

Merlotte managed to look embarrassed.

I sneered, "Does it have to be true shifter money to get your approval, or are other weres good enough for you?"

"Shifter would be best, but a lone wolf would do." He scowled. "Pack if you have no choice."

I nodded. "Very well. I'll be in touch."

Russell had a contact who was interested. Edward Burrows came into a sizeable inheritance from his in-laws twenty years ago, and had made good investing it in small businesses in Jackson. His family were shifters. Cataliades introduced him to Merlotte, reporting that the meeting went well.

I stopped by the following week. The bar was still dead. It was two nights after the full moon and when I walked in Merlotte was haggard, leaning heavily on the counter. He took me into his office. A nervous waitress came in, handed me a warm bottle of blood and left without a word. Merlotte poured himself some bourbon, his expression distinctly uncomfortable. Were we celebrating?

"Burrows was satisfactory?"

"Yep." He gulped down a slug of his drink.

"Good." I raised my bottle and took a mouthful, watching him. He was agitated.

"Look … I'm only saying this once." He forced the words out. "Thank you."

I shrugged. "You can owe me."

He snorted. "Oh, I know that. But … I was in a jam … and after the way I behaved …"

"Cataliades came to me. Bankrupt shifters are bad publicity for all of us."

He cocked his head. "You didn't do this for him. Or the publicity." The flash of amusement in his eyes faded quickly, replaced by weary defeat. I took another swig of blood while he worked himself up to asking: "Have you heard from Niall?"

Ah. "Not recently." His shoulders slumped. "Ludwig hasn't heard from him?"

He grimaced. "My mom … He came to the clinic once and she … Well, she's not real fond of fairies. He didn't come back."

I smirked. "I would have paid to see that."

"Yeah, it was something, apparently." He ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "You haven't heard anything?"

I shook my head.

Looking down into his empty glass, he spoke softly. "She did it. It's gone."

I held back a thousand questions and let out one word. "When?"

"February." He swallowed. "Bout six weeks ago."

I drained the bottle and set it down. A lot had happened in the last six weeks.

He looked up again. "She said she was coming back."

"Niall thought she would."

"He wouldn't…?"

"No, he wouldn't stop her. If that was what she wanted."

His face showed the same doubts that I had about that. An unaccustomed feeling – was that sympathy? – tempted me to point out that she was likely still recovering, as he clearly was. Squashing that impulse I said bluntly, "You look like shit. Is Ludwig still treating you?"

He flinched and said bitterly, "No. It's just a matter of time. Waiting it out."

"I could ask Miss Kingfisher –"

"She can't help. Not with this." Slumping even further down into his chair, he whispered, "I can't shift."

He looked appalled as soon as the words were out. Sharing his pain went against the primal instinct of all severely injured creatures, driven to slink away into a dark safe place and lick their wounds. Alone. Privately.

I felt exactly the same after Nadia had … Fuck. That was definitely sympathy.

"Will it pass?" I asked grimly, as uncomfortable as he was with this conversation.

"Don't know."

"Ah."

That was a death sentence for his kind. Shapeshifters who couldn't shift walked into traffic. He hadn't given in yet, which showed tenacity. We looked at each other for a moment, an unexpected and grudging respect passing between us.

I stood. "Contact Pam if you need to reach me."

He nodded, reaching for the bourbon.

…

Sookie began to stir after an hour.

I was sitting on the coffee table next to her, deep in thought and shirt fully buttoned. She stretched and sat up, delightfully rumpled. She appeared calm. I waited for some sign the drug was gone.

"Hey. Sorry to crash on you." She smiled warmly, leaning over to kiss me.

I stood up. Not all gone. Or there was enough alcohol left in her to loosen her up, as they say.

She looked confused and then hurt. "What…?"

I put the desk between us and sat in Pam's chair, steepling my hands in front of me. "How do you feel, Sookie?"

"I …I feel fine." She frowned and hesitantly stood up. I watched closely as she walked over to the chair in front of the desk. Her balance was improved. She sat down, looked around and wrinkled her nose. "This … isn't quite what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Oh…" She smiled faintly. "Silk sheets and a lot fewer clothes."

Still uninhibited, freer than usual. Less aggressive, though. It was definitely wearing off.

She looked at me hopefully. "So…do you want to...?"

I had to ask. "What exactly are you offering?"

She hesitated. "A night, I guess. One time offer. No strings."

My eyes lingered on her dress for a moment. "I'm afraid I have to decline."

"Oh. I … That's a shame." she whispered, looking away.

This was a rare opportunity to get some honest answers out of Sookie, one I probably wouldn't get again. It meant taking advantage of her state, but I itched to make sense of things. Get what they called closure these days. Pam's platinum pen was on the desk, the one I'd bought for her and had engraved with '_Sheriff_'. I toyed with it while I came to a decision.

"Will you answer two questions?" I asked quietly.

She bit her lip. "I guess."

I turned the pen over in my hands. "You went to a wedding in Texas. While we were together."

"Yeah. That was a disaster. Poor Deidra, all those dumb protesters."

"Yes. That wedding. What happened between you and the shifter that weekend?" Something had changed between them during that trip. I needed to know what, however painful.

"Oh." She was flustered, looking anywhere but me. "Oh. Well, we went to the wedding together. Obviously. And ran around dealing with the usual supe crap. I told you about that, right?"

My eyes never left her face. "Sookie. What happened between you and Sam?"

A slow blush spread across her cheeks and she twisted her hands in her lap. She looked … guilty. I loosened my grip on the pen, mindful of the urge to clench my fists.

"Nothing," she said sullenly. "Nothing happened."

"Sookie," I warned.

"Alright already! It was just a damn kiss! Barely more than a peck on the lips." She raised her chin, defiant. "It's not like you didn't kiss me plenty worse when I was with other guys. And I only did it because Bernie was watching and Sam had given them all the impression I was his girlfriend."

What? I snapped upright, dropping the pen, a slow churning beginning in my gut. Keeping my voice flat I said, "He told his family you were together."

"Um. Yeah." She fidgeted.

"And you went along with it. While we were pledged." I could hardly believe she let other supes believe she was Merlotte's. Disregarding the insult to me, she must have realised de Castro would pounce on anything he could exploit to challenge the pledge.

"Yeah, but that didn't count. It wasn't real."

She said it so casually. I actually bit my tongue to stop myself interrupting with an angry retort.

"We were all the way over in Wright anyway. It was only Sam's family. Nobody there knew who I was." She smiled to herself. "The kids called me Aunt Sookie. That was kinda sweet."

Meeting his family. That was what had warmed her to Merlotte. Shit. That stung worse than what I'd begun to suspect, which in all fairness didn't fit the Sookie I knew. This did. A family, children, everything I couldn't … I closed my eyes for a second, the blood in my mouth tasting bitter as I swallowed the truth.

"Well, it was just family to start with," she added thoughtfully, "until all the twoeys turned up to help. That was real nice of them. Even Quinn and Jannalynn. Good Lord, that was mortifying. Sam's actual girlfriend turning up like that."

I suddenly knew exactly why Jannalynn had chosen to target me with the fairy-laced Rowe: to humiliate Sookie the way Merlotte had humiliated her. She was a vindictive bitch, that one. Merlotte's disloyalty would have enraged her.

Wasn't that poetic. Jannalynn's idea of vengeance ultimately led to her own death, Sam getting his ass saved by the woman he'd chosen over her, and the wish that saved him binding them together.

Fucking poetic. If I still believed in Norns I'd bet there was one cackling herself to death over the threads she'd tangled into that lovely knot.

Sookie's eyes pleaded with me. "That's all water under the bridge, Eric. Sam and me are done. I didn't love him. Not really. Not that way. So we could…" She stopped, blushed and looked down. She whispered, "You had another question?"

I picked up the pen again, turning it as I searched for the right words. This one … I wasn't sure she'd answer, even like this. She'd be offended by it once she was sober, but she was going to be angry anyway. Hung for a sheep or a lamb, it made no difference.

"You were married for three years. Did you ever turn your husband away?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Deny him the comfort of your bed." _As you did to me so often,_ I added silently.

"Of course not. He was my husband. Well, unless you mean, y'know, when I was indisposed, or …" she trailed off, censoring whatever was on the tip of her tongue.

She was regaining control of herself. Time to move this along. I had ample confirmation that our pledging, our relationship rated far less importance in her eyes than her marriage to Merlotte. The shifter she didn't love.

I stood. "I should take you home."

"Oh, right." She stood too, flustered by the abrupt subject change. She squinted at the clock behind me. "Shoot, it's almost three. Thank goodness I don't have to work tomorrow."

"Quite." I gestured to the couch and waited while she fixed her shoes and grabbed her purse.

She was quiet while I adjusted the seat of her car to fit me, quieter still as I drove out of Shreveport. Ten minutes along the I20 her breathing evened out and I relaxed. She was asleep.

I pulled up in front of her house and watched her for a few minutes, wondering if I'd ever come back here. I didn't want to go inside. This wasn't the house of my lost memories or of my lover. That place was gone. This was Sookie Merlotte's house.

I woke her gently, stroking the hair off her face. "Sookie. You're home."

She yawned and rubbed her face. "Oh, sorry." She fumbled with the door. I blurred around the car to help her out. "Thanks," she said sheepishly.

She got to the front door before she realised I'd stopped outside the ward, at the bottom of the porch steps. She turned back and gave me an uncertain smile.

"I'll wait until you're inside. Check your phone tomorrow when you wake up."

"Sure. I'll do that. Thanks for seeing me home safe, Eric. And, um, thanks for… everything else. Everything. I mean it." She held my eyes for a long beat, hers glistening with emotion. Then she slipped inside, shutting the door gently.

I waited a few minutes, listening to the sounds of her moving further into the house. A tap running. Good, she would need more water.

I looked over towards the cemetery and Bill's house. Did staying near her all this time make him the stronger man, or just a masochist? I didn't know, but I knew I couldn't stay.

I launched myself into the sky, needing the flight to clear my head.

…

Pam was already home when I arrived, half an hour before dawn. She looked up from a magazine when I walked into her kitchen.

"Did you speak to Gerard?" I asked.

"Yes. We'll keep an eye on the woman, this Jody. He mentioned a male."

I nodded, tamping down a ridiculous spike of jealousy.

Her mouth tightened but she carried on briskly. "I won't take any overt action until I've spoken to Sookie. She wants minimal interference with those around her."

"I'll leave that to you. I'm going to rest."

Ten minutes before dawn I was freshly showered and sprawled out on the bed in the room Pam kept for me, pondering the slings and arrows of the night.

I was bruised.

Sookie's words taunted me: _'I don't much care where we do it, as long as we have sex.'_

I said something very similar to her in Jackson and meant it completely. I hadn't cared what made her yield to me, not then, only that she did. Tonight, I wouldn't have taken advantage of her, drugged as she was.

Even if she was sober, I would have refused her.

I did care, very much, why she had sex with me now. I couldn't casually fuck someone that I lo–

That didn't make sense. I'd never had any qualms about taking what was freely offered, whatever my history with the woman.

It occurred to me that I'd only fancied myself in love before. I'd had infatuations, all quickly fading. Obsessions that burnt themselves out eventually. Easy friendships with a physical side that lasted longer. I'd even been content with undemanding women for a decade or so on occasion.

But nothing like this. This lingering … passion. Raw need. I remembered her hands on me and shivered.

Sookie was different.

Well, it was different for me. Her, not so much. Apparently, I was just another ship in the night. One she enjoyed immensely, but didn't want to keep around.

I'd felt her warm affection for me while we were bonded and interpreted it as love. I'd forgotten love came in shades. Perhaps hers had been rooted in the physical, given the way she behaved tonight. After all, it was notoriously easy for humans to become enamoured with vampires for that reason. Hadn't I told her she was spoilt for human men? She had said she loved me, but she was young, inexperienced enough to confuse physical infatuation for deeper emotion.

Was it just lust that drew her to me?

I turned over and buried my face in the pillow, letting out a muffled groan of frustration. What the fuck was I thinking? Now I was regretting being good at something I enjoyed immensely.

My sigh was muffled too. I couldn't regret loving her, however painfully it ended and frankly how close to insanity it had been at times.

I missed it.

I didn't _need_ it. I'd spent centuries without it. I'd been content and I would be again. I would carry on as before. At least I would recognise the hazard if I came across again it. Forewarned, I could avoid it.

I frowned against the pillow. If the bolt struck again, would I honestly dodge it? I wasn't so sure, not now I'd tasted it. That was a strange thought, meeting someone else who invoked the same passion.

_No. Never._

I sat up, shocked by the fierce denial that shot through me.

What? Why wouldn't I? I'd always ridiculed that one special person for everyone drivel. There were too many people in the world for that to be true. My denial, my fucking _feelings_ didn't make sense. It was perfectly possible for it to happen again, with someone else.

Even though the thought made my skin crawl.

No, it wasn't that it couldn't happen. Not exactly. I might _meet_ someone else, but I couldn't … not while I still …

Ah.

I chewed that over.

It rang true.

Rory, just that one time, no repeats. Not that it would have been more than – what was it Pam called it? – friends with boning rights, the complete package – but I hadn't pursued it.

Shit. I couldn't even indulge in a casual flirtation. I flopped back onto the bed, stunned. When it came to matters of the heart, if not fucking, I was a one-woman man.

Did that make any difference?

No. I needed to stay the fuck away from Sookie even more urgently. Far, far away. Let it fade, let it wither.

Even with the painful answers I got tonight, one chance meeting was enough to have me preoccupied with her again. I couldn't afford that. Not now.

I needed to be free of my irrational _feelings _for a woman who would never return them.

...

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><p>Grammar glitches corrected thanks to the eagle-eyed ws caer. And Idylvice (nice name btw). Did not know that phrase had different connotations for Americans!<p>

Anyone spots any more, let me know. Note to self: don't proof read when you're tired!


	7. Scattered Pearls

Thank you all so much for the long reviews - Sephora I wish I could reply to yours! They were all very much appreciated. And now, the morning after...

* * *

><p><strong>Scattered Pearls<strong>

* * *

><p>Jolted awake by a sense of imminent disaster, I sat bolt upright in bed and gasped.<p>

Ouch. I scrunched my eyes shut. After a moment of soothing darkness, I tried again. Still too bright. Shading my eyes with my hand, I blinked rapidly until the sun-flooded room came into focus.

I was on my bed, on top of the quilt, wearing the dress I picked out for Blue.

What the hell? Had I fallen asleep, missed the whole thing?

The sour taste in my mouth said otherwise. As did my purse and shoes, dropped haphazardly on the chair in the corner. All the signs indicated I'd made it to the nightclub, including my throbbing head. Nonetheless, my mind, fuzzy with sleep and pain, had misplaced the previous evening.

The alarm from my bladder grew insistent. Stumbling to the bathroom I dealt with that, and – with my eyes half-shut, Lord it was bright – grabbed a towel to dry my hands. A dirty towel. I stared groggily at the black smudges on it, blinking in confusion. Then I looked in the mirror.

Oh.

Mascara. Raccoon-eyed Sookie.

I wasn't firing on all cylinders, that was for damn sure. And I was thirsty.

Grabbing the glass I kept on the nightstand, I noticed my cell was blinking, but that could wait. I took two painkillers, gorged myself on cold water, scrubbed my teeth and removed the ruins of my make-up.

Taking the empty glass back, I picked up my cell and found a text from Pam.

**Your drink was spiked at Blue, probably liquid E. It wore off quickly. Should be no lasting effects. Will come tonight. **

I sank onto the bed, and reread it.

Spiked.

Shit. No wonder I couldn't remember.

I shuddered. The thought of being woozy and helpless, a stranger's hands, an unwelcome touch...

I looked down. My dress was grubby. Soiled.

I shot into the bathroom, stripped off and jumped under the shower while it was still cold. Gasping, I scrubbed at my skin with generous handfuls of body wash, the fresh scent of citrus engulfing me.

As the water warmed, my panic dulled. Pam knew. I had guards; they'd intervened. I was safe, intact. I took my time lathering my hair and washing my body again. As my hands worked a comforting rhythm, I closed my eyes. Bright pearls of memory flashed in the dark.

_Standing in the bathroom, a tap running and a towel pressed to my face_. When I got home, I guessed.

_A car window, cool against my face, a dark landscape sliding past_. My car. I wasn't driving. Someone had driven me home. Thalia?

_Leanne and Melissa laughing round a table, music throbbing. _The nightclub.

The fragments came out of order, out of context, pearls scattered from a broken necklace. I threaded them together.

Meeting up with the girls. Dancing, having fun. A round of shots. Dragging a frat boy up to dance with me. Lord, what I was I thinking? I wasn't, the alcohol was thinking for me. I was higher than a Georgia pine.

Melissa left with a guy, her guy. Jo? John? I couldn't remember. That bitch Jody upset Leanne. I saw Leanne to her car, madder than a wet hen. I was going to beat Jody at her little game, I was gonna–

Oh shit.

Find a guy.

I hadn't, had I? I froze, checking myself over. I had all the symptoms of a hangover, but no soreness where things shouldn't be sore. Thank goodness for–

I gasped.

Eric.

Oh hell.

Eric was there.

I got a few more pearls. Dancing with a guy, tall and dark. Him grabbing me, being creepy. Me stumbling back into Eric. Things got hazy then. Eric's arms around me. His smell. My voice, drawling that he had no competition.

Oh dear Lord, I'd flirted with him. Surely I hadn't said that cheesy line aloud? Just kill me now. And what the hell happened next?

Try as I might nothing more came. However hard I wrung out my tired and abused brain, that was where the string snapped. No more pearls. In despair, I pressed my forehead against the cool tiles.

Eventually the water cooled. I got out, towelling myself roughly, angry with myself.

I'd been beyond foolish. Let my guard down just because I'd missed out on partying when I was younger, thanks to my telepathy. I was damn lucky I'd gotten away unscathed. It could have been so much worse.

Pulling on some shorts and a tank, I figured any memory that hadn't been eaten by the drug could be coaxed out by that age-old trick: blithely going about my business until it popped up unasked.

...

I felt human again after coffee, strong and black. Toast, dry and white, settled my stomach. I had a lot to do before everybody arrived. I got busy marinating meat and fixing side-dishes, glad I'd picked up groceries earlier in the week.

That done, I grabbed my sunglasses and headed outside to survey the backyard. It was a glorious day. The grass was a little long, but I didn't have time to cut it. At least the flowerbeds were tidy. Setting out the lawn chairs without Sam was a painful reminder I was single.

Hot and tired, I went inside to dress for company. I splashed cold water on my face at the sink and reached for a towel. Pressing it to my face, the feel of it and the smell of mascara catapulted me into a memory.

_Standing in the dark bathroom, I was sniffling, pressing the towel to my face, trying to stem tears of humiliation. Why, oh why had I tried to kiss him? The way he leapt up before I could even touch him, like my lips were silver. The cold look on his face, the distant way he spoke to me…_

I pulled the towel away, surprised to see daylight.

The fragment was hazy, but the feeling that had me crying, the utter mortification – that came through keenly. Swallowing hard, I bit back a cuss word that would have had Gran picking out a switch.

I'd obviously made a fool of myself. I just didn't know how complete a fool.

With Eric of all people.

I winced, mentally apologising to Gran for planning, even for a second, even drunk as a skunk, to jump into bed with a random stranger. I respected myself more than that. Gran taught me better than that. She would be mortified.

She needn't bother. I was plenty mortified for us both.

Not least because Eric was no stranger. Sheppard of Judea, a stranger would've been a heck of lot less complicated.

And what was with the pathetic Weeping Willa act? Must've been the damn drug. I was a grown-ass woman, not some angst-ridden teenager, easily crushed by rejection. If I offered a guy a night of passion, and the guy turned me down, so what?

It hadn't meant anything. It wasn't a big deal.

Stomping into the bedroom, I yanked open my closet and rooted through the clothes for the pretty pink sundress I wanted to wear. I tossed it on the bed.

Time to put last night behind me. I had a birthday to celebrate.

...

The cookout was in full swing.

Jason and Hoyt, beers in hand, were manning the grill. Over by the woods, JB and Cody were supervising Jay-Jay and Tara's twins, their game of catch degenerating into a chase amid loud shrieks of laughter. Danny, Kennedy and Tara were fetching side-dishes from the kitchen, having banished me to sit in the shade. I was chatting to Holly and Penny. Her guy, Ryan, had barely said two words to anyone, and was clinging to Penny's hand for dear life. I wondered waspishly if he'd let go if she needed to pee.

Rubbing my forehead, I realised my irritability stemmed from my returning headache. This morning's painkillers had worn off. Suppressing a sigh, I excused myself.

Michele was singing a lullaby to Marie Adele as I passed the spare room, and I sighed for real.

I dawdled in my room, needing a break from playing hostess. When I came out, Michele was in the hall, baby monitor in her hand. She hushed me with a finger on her lips, and motioned me forwards. I peeked into the spare room. My niece was fast asleep in the travel cot Jason had set up in there. Michele pulled the door gently shut, and we snuck away to the kitchen.

"Want some iced tea?" I offered.

"Please." She yawned.

I glanced over my shoulder from the fridge. "She sleeping any better?"

"A little. Only woke us twice last night."

"Jason helping out enough?"

"Yeah. Got an hour to myself in the tub yesterday." She smiled. "Put that pamper kit to good use. Thanks for that."

I smiled back and handed her drink to her. "Any time, Michele."

We leant against the counter companionably, sipping our drinks. She cast a few glances my way before she asked, "How did last night go?" I grimaced immediately, and she chuckled. "A little hung-over today, honey?"

I stuck my tongue out at her.

"Oh, hush. I'm jealous. It'll be a good while before I can paint the town red." She was grinning at my misfortune all the same. "So, any juicy gossip about the girls from Minden? I've got to get my kicks where I can."

I snorted. "Well, Jody is a complete bitch, but that's not headline news. She was real mean to Leanne, who wouldn't say boo to a goose. Poor kid. Melissa's got guy trouble but you'll have to wait until Monday to find out what happened there."

"But you had a good night?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Mostly, I guess." I looked down into my glass, swirling the tea and making the ice clink soothingly.

"Something bugging you?"

Yes. Definitely. But I didn't want to get into it. I shrugged.

She nudged me with her hip. "Trouble halved."

We eyed each other. I sighed. I could tell her some, but it was no use getting her, or God forbid Jason if she told him, all riled up over a spiked drink when nothing came of it. "I had too much to drink. Made a fool of myself."

"In front of the girls from work?"

I shook my head.

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "A guy?"

I felt myself flushing. "Maybe."

"Did you–"

"No, no." I flushed even more. "He, um..." Turned me down flat. "He wasn't interested."

"Oh. That's all?"

I gave her a look that said: Wasn't that enough?

"You likely to see him again?"

"Nope." Not unless I moved to Indiana. That was a point. Why on earth was Eric there last night? I had a vague idea it had something to do with Pam. I should ask her to warn me next time he was in town.

Michele shrugged. "Getting drunk and making a pass at some guy in a bar you're never going to see again ain't so bad. If you knew some of the stupid shit I did after my divorce…" She tapped her head pointedly. "Guess you haven't caught any of that."

"No. I try not to pry, you know that."

"Well, I'm not real proud of some of it, but I got over it. No need to beat yourself up about one night, Sook. Everybody's entitled to cut loose now and again."

That philosophy explained how she accepted Jason, womanising past and all.

She patted my arm, and switched her empty glass for the baby monitor on the counter. "Best get out there before the menfolk start chowing down without us."

…

Painkillers and food chased away the last of my hangover, and I began to enjoy my company.

The men talked about baseball, Jason making grand plans for Jay-Jay's Little League career. The womenfolk complimented each other's dishes, swapping recipes and gossip. Even Michele and Tara. They'd buried the hatchet a week earlier when Tara finally got up the nerve to apologise to Jason. By the time the air was cooling and the shadows had lengthened, Ryan had even let go of Penny and was talking to Danny about video games.

I was laughing at one of Holly's mother-in-law jokes – she had a bunch of them, it was the only way not to strangle Maxine, she said – when a car horn sounded from the front of the house.

Jason, over by the tree-line fetching a ball, saw who it was. He jogged back over, scowling straight at me, and announced grimly, just as I read it from his head, "It's Sam."

Conversation stopped abruptly. I calmly put down my plate and wiped my face with my napkin. "No biggie, Jason. I'll see what he wants."

Tara and Jason exchanged a look, both ready to volunteer as my bodyguard.

"Oh no. You guys are staying right here," I said firmly. "I can handle this."

I glared at them until Tara muttered, "Fine."

"The rest of you carry on," I said, and walked away to see what my ex-husband wanted.

Sam smiled tentatively at me from his truck, arm resting on the open window. He waited until I got closer and asked, "Mind if I get out? I won't keep you long. I know you have folks over."

I frowned, puzzled by his behaviour. "Sure, Sam. What's up?"

He switched off the engine and jumped down. "Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to get this to you today."

"No problem."

He headed to the back of his truck and dropped the tailgate. I followed, curious. In the truck bed was a bag of compost, a shovel and an odd shape bundled up in an old blanket.

"What's all this?" I asked.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "I ordered this last year, as a late Christmas present. Forgot all about it until the nursery called me a few months back. Had them keep hold of it as you were away. Figured I'd give you it now, for your birthday. I know it's the wrong season and all, but–"

"Sam," I interrupted softly, "you got me a rose bush?" He knew how upset I was when one of Gran's died last summer.

"Yeah." He swung himself up onto the truck bed and pulled the bundle over, unwrapping it carefully. The rose was covered with soft pink flowers.

I smiled up at him, touched. "It's gorgeous. Thank you."

Sam smiled a little, and side-eyed me. "It's called Fairy. Seemed appropriate. Want me to plant it for you?"

"Sure." He'd come prepared and I wasn't too proud to turn down the offer. I choose a good position, close to the front steps, and left him to it.

Jason was waiting just around the corner of the house. I shooed him away and headed round to the kitchen to grab a container. I wasn't ready to hang out with Sam just yet, but I wouldn't send the man home empty-handed. Not after such a thoughtful gift.

Everybody stopped talking when I got back to the table. I rolled my eyes at them. "He brought me a rose bush. I'm fixing him some food to take home. Y'all never saw a civilised divorce?"

Tara and Jason glowered. Penny and the rest of the menfolk looked uncomfortable. Michele and Holly looked at each other in surprise, but Kennedy just grinned at me. I took my time picking food Sam liked. Everybody was talking again by the time I snapped the container closed. I snagged a beer from the cooler, and headed round the house.

I turned the corner and froze.

Sam's t-shirt was thrown over the handrail by the steps. He was gently stamping down the soil around the rose, the muscles in his back rippling in the sunlight. It was a wonderful sight.

I must have made a noise, because he glanced round. Wiping his hands quickly on his jeans, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, making more delicious ripples. Thankfully I recovered myself while the shirt was over his face and walked over as if nothing had happened. I was not ogling my ex. No sirree. Seeing him shirtless just caught me off guard.

I handed him the beer.

"Thanks." He took a long swig and wiped his mouth. We turned to look at the rose together. "Just water it well for the next couple weeks."

"Sure will. It looks great Sam. Thank you." I leant over and kissed his cheek lightly. When I did, I got a glimpse into his head and gasped. "You did the weeding while I was gone."

"Yep," he said with a satisfied grin. "I know how much you hate doing it."

"Sure do. Thanks for that too." I smiled, pleased things were easier between us. Then Sam ruined it.

"Spending time here… It helped me come to terms with letting you go."

"Oh." Awkward. Very.

He looked down and scuffed the grass with his boot. "So… I heard you got a job."

"Yes. Over in Minden. Office work."

"That's great."

"Yeah. It's nice to be working nine-to-five." Realising that sounded like a criticism of Merlotte's, I rushed to add, "But it means more mileage on the car."

"Uh, yeah." He glanced over at my car, parked beyond his.

My car, parked in the wrong place, out the front, by whoever drove me home. Most likely a vamp. Thalia, knowing my luck. Her scent would be all over it.

I did not want Sam asking why that was.

Attempting to deflect his attention, I rambled on in a bright perky voice. "The girls in the office are real welcoming. Nice girls. Leanne is just lovely, got me cupcakes on Thursday for my birthday. Melissa is great, real spunky and smart too. Real friendly. Wanted me to go clubbing with them..."

Why in the heck had I blurted that out? We'd been divorced less than three weeks. Sam didn't need to hear I'd been out partying, much less that I'd been ready to jump into bed with the first guy who came along. That I tried to kiss Eric.

That was the last thing Sam deserved.

I looked at the rose, the beautiful rose he'd given me. A hot flush of shame welled up my chest and throat, heating my face.

Looking puzzled, Sam opened his mouth to ask a question I sure didn't want to answer, but a ball bounced into view, closely followed by Jason. He bent to pick it up and glared at Sam before he threw it back. Jason, my brother, subtle as a brick. But I was real glad of the distraction.

Sam sifted uneasily. "I'd best be going."

"Sure." I handed him the food. "Thanks for the rose, Sam."

"You're welcome. Thanks for the food. See you around."

…

Once it got dark, Jason and Hoyt let off a few fireworks, much to Cody and Jay-Jay's delight. Thankfully Marie Adele slept through them and no-one got singed, just one of the trees. That had Michele rolling her eyes, muttering that some guys never grew up.

Everyone headed home after that. I put the last few dishes away, keeping an ear out for Pam. I didn't hear her car, but I did feel two voids approaching from the woods. I went to the back door, expecting Thalia to be with her.

The vampire behind Pam was not much taller than me, tanned but paled by his condition, with black hair and dark eyes. He was wearing plaid and denim, in contrast to Pam's smart pant suit and heels. Her work clothes. She was carrying a large purse.

"Hey, Pam."

"Sookie," she said, "meet Gerard, your new guard. He was watching you last night."

I nodded at him, trying to look disinterested. Lord only knew what he thought of me.

Bowing, he said with a strong French accent, "Gerard LeFèvre at your service. My apologies for last night. I followed you out to ze lot and did not see le bâtard who tampered with your drink."

I couldn't help responding to his politeness, and maybe that cute accent of his too. "Oh, don't worry about it. No harm done." Only to my dignity.

"You are very kind." He bowed again. Geez, he was mighty polite for a vamp. Pam gave him a nod of dismissal and he left.

I waved Pam inside. She declined my offer of bottled blood and we settled ourselves at the kitchen table, like old times. She asked, "You are well?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I lost a chunk of last night. Did Gerard drive me back here?"

Pam blinked. "No." She hesitated. "That was Eric."

Oh, wonderful. I groaned, dropped my face into my hands to cover my blush, and muttered some French myself.

"I see you remember something, then."

Every word oozed with amusement. I peered through my fingers at her. Yep, her mouth was twitching. She must've had a front row seat for the drunken Sookie show.

"Would you like me to fill in some gaps?" she offered, eyes twinkling.

"No!" I half-yelled. I really did not want to know. I lifted my face – who was I kidding? She knew I was beet red – and added more calmly, "No. I'm sure anything important will come back to me."

She smirked openly. "Oh, I'm sure. Eric brought you to Fangtasia and watched over you while you were … intoxicated. If you are concerned about that, suffice it to say you know Eric. He is a gentleman."

I snorted. That was barefaced lie. Eric was the exact opposite of a gentleman, so being turned down last night was a sad reflection on the power of my feminine charms. Or his indifference to them, anyway.

"Thanks. That's real comforting," I said, hiding the sting of rejection behind sarcasm. "Did you come out here just to tease the heck out of me or was there something else?"

Pam dropped the smirk. "Liquid E acts quickly. It was probably in your last drink."

I inhaled sharply. "Jody." That bitch. "She got the last round."

"But it was busy," Pam cautioned. "We can't be sure it was her. I will have Gerard glamour the truth out of her, and make sure she leaves you alone."

"No." Jody's ass was mine. I would deal with her. "I'll do a little digging in her head. Find out what happened for sure."

Pam nodded. "Let me know what you find." She stood, brushed off her suit, and pulled a beautifully wrapped gift out of her purse. "For your birthday, breather."

"Pam, you shouldn't have." She really shouldn't have bothered to wrap it so carefully. I had the paper shredded in seconds. I opened the box inside to reveal an LSU assignment diary, a couple of personalised data sticks, and a gift card for the campus bookstore.

"Pam, it's perfect. Thank you." I got up and hugged her, laughing at the face she pulled.

"Sookie. You're creasing my suit."

"Oh, you love it. Wait, did you come in a car tonight?"

"Yes. I parked at the cemetery."

"Stay right there." I fetched a box from my room. "A souvenir from England. I meant to give you it to you that first night, but it wasn't wrapped."

She opened the box, carefully undid the bubble-wrap parcel inside, to reveal an art deco figurine I'd found in an antique shop. I remembered the lamps in her lounge as soon as I saw it and thought she'd like the style. The graceful, and naked, female form was bound to be a hit. Still, I held my breath while she ran her fingers over it.

She broke into a smile. "It's lovely. Thank you, my friend."

I grinned. "I'm glad you like it."

The glow of giving and receiving warmed me until my head hit the pillow.

...

I went to church next morning, in penance for my wild Friday night.

And what a penance it was. The sermon, which railed against the temptations of the flesh, seemed spoken to me alone. I hid my face while the Reverend gave it, my ears burning, very glad I'd sat at the back again.

After the service, gossip centred on a Mrs Lockwood, who was scandalously divorcing her poor, poor husband to chase after a younger man. Translation: her husband came home drunk and smelling of cheap perfume one too many times, and the 'younger' man was a sprightly mid-forties to her early-fifties.

Maxine, who always crowed the loudest when she was first in the know, was talking about a girl at Bon Temps High giving birth unexpectedly. "A bright girl for sure, but no better than her raisin'. I could tell you some stories about her mother that would scare your hair white."

I hurried past her gaggle of eager listeners, missing Holly. Tara and JB weren't there either. The twins didn't do well after a late night and they hadn't left mine until after nine, so that was no shock. Halleigh gave me a warm smile, but she was stuck talking to the particularly overprotective mother of one of her students.

I stood off to one side all alone, consoling myself that being ignored was a step up from being gossiped over. At least no-one was thinking I'd ditched Sam for a vamp this week. Thank goodness that was dying a death. I was beginning to think that damn wish had rippled out wider than I thought.

Oh shit.

Eric drove me home. I offered up a fervent prayer that no-one in Bon Temps had spotted him. That was all I needed, rumours about a large pale blond driving me home in the small hours. A good dollop of guilt hit me when I imagined what that would do to Sam. Cheese and rice, I'd be ashamed to look him in the eye. We'd never make it back to the friendship I wanted to regain.

I was truly relieved nothing had happened between me and Eric. It would only complicate things.

I looked around. Halleigh wasn't going to be free for a while. There was no-one else I had a burning desire to catch up with. Might as well go home and do laundry.

…

I was lounging in the sun that afternoon, making the most of my free weekend, when the house phone rang. I hightailed it into the kitchen and answered breathlessly, "Stackhouse residence."

"Hi, Sookie."

"Amelia." We hadn't spoken since right after the divorce. That conversation had been stilted, and interrupted several times by Felix. I asked warmly, "How are you?"

"Oh, fine," she said in that way people do when they want you to move on and not question it. "You? Doing anything for Independence Day today?"

"Oh, just chilling. Folks are going over to Monroe or Ruston, but I'm all for staying in and getting an early night." If she assumed I wasn't planning on standing in a crowd watching fireworks because of my telepathy, not my disastrous night clubbing, then I wasn't going to correct her.

"How was your birthday?"

"Just grand. We missed you at the cookout yesterday. Thank you for the gift basket."

"I'm sorry it wasn't anything more, but I'm not really up to shopping."

"Is the morning sickness still bad?" I hopped up on the stool and toyed with the notepad and pen I kept next to the phone, in memory of Gran. Something tickled at my awareness, teasingly out of reach, but Amelia's heavy sigh pulled my attention back to our conversation.

"Yeah. And I'm so much more exhausted this time, dealing with Felix on my own."

"On your own?" I sat up, still holding the pen but focused on her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Bob moved out."

"Oh no," I said softly. "How are you holding up?"

"Not great." Her voice wavered. "In fact, it's been a really shitty week. The coven … Bob's very popular and a few of the women … I guess you know how people love to take sides."

"Sure do." Tara, for instance.

"How are you coping without Merlotte's? I can't even imagine you working anywhere else."

"Oh. I, er, got an office job over in Minden." It felt wrong to brag on it when she sounded so unhappy. "Nothing major, just filing, making coffee and answering phones. It's a small place so it's not too _noisy _for me."

"You sound like you found your feet already."

"Yeah, I think so." Just a little problem called Jody to straighten out.

There was a pause, a sniff, and she said, "Everything's such a mess. Poor Felix is so miserable."

"Oh, Ames. You'll get through it." Whatever it was. I couldn't imagine what would make Bob move out.

"I hope so." She tried to laugh, but it sounded painful. "It just sucks when you're in the middle of it."

"Yeah, it sure does. Sam and me …" I turned the pen over in my hand trying to find the right words to comfort her. That mental itch started up again, but I ignored it. "Last November was rough. Things went to hell in a hand-basket real fast. Wanna talk about it?"

"No. No, I'll be fine." Her voice was shaky, like she was about to burst into tears.

I frowned. This was more personal than we'd gotten in a long time, and no easy thing to talk about over the phone. She needed a shoulder to cry on. My heart went out to her and, wanting our friendship to improve, I decided to reach out. "Ames… Do you want me to come down there?"

"Oh. But you just started a new job."

I played with the pen, the phone tucked into my shoulder. "I could come for a weekend."

"Oh. Um … in a fortnight?"

She sure wasn't her usual confident self. Sounding cheerful enough for both of us I said, "Sure, I'd love to Ames."

"Okay. It's a date." she said, sounding happier.

Now I was anxious, worrying about driving in New Orleans, trying to remember where she lived and if there was parking, turning the pen in my hands over nervously. The pen–

"Let me call round," she added, "find someone to cover the store. I'll call to confirm later this week."

"Sure. Y'all look after yourself, Ames."

"You too, Sookie."

She hung up and I stared at the cheap ballpoint in my hand, seeing something else entirely: _a__ silver pen catching the light, mesmerising me as large pale hands turned it over and over._

The vision vanished like mist. I put the phone down.

Was that a memory? It didn't make sense. I was pretty sure those were Eric's hands, but the pen was silver and he wasn't burning … Oh. Maybe it was brushed steel, like the sign outside Fangtasia.

Fangtasia. Pam said he'd watched over me at Fangtasia. It _was_ a memory.

I closed my eyes, barely breathing. A silver pen. Eric's hands. I kept those things in the back of my mind and relaxed, not focusing on them, keeping my centre of attention empty. It was difficult, like trying to see those 3-D pictures you can only see if you cross your eyes six ways to Sunday.

_Eric sitting behind Pam's desk, his face blank and still. His hands, turning and turning the pen. Me, sitting in front of him, fidgeting in the hot seat._

My eyes flew open. Hot seat?

Damn. Lost it. I tried again, willing myself not to react, imagining the scene happening to someone else so as not to interrupt the flow. All I got was a few fragments of a conversation, distorted and hazy, but enough to get the gist of it.

I waited for a second to make sure there was no more.

Then, launched by a hot coil of anger in my belly, I leapt up from the stool.

That jerk! He had the cheek to make me feel guilty about an innocent peck on the lips. How dare he even suggest that I'd been unfaithful after what he did with that were-bitch. The nerve of that asshole! Sticking his nose where it didn't belong, prying into my marriage, asking about things that were private, things that should stay between me and Sam.

And he asked me all that while I wasn't in my right mind, no doubt expecting I wouldn't remember a word of it. Manipulative, high-handed son of a bitch!

I stomped back and forth, banging cabinet doors at random, until I slammed one so hard the crockery inside rattled.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a snit, muttering darkly that Indiana wasn't far enough and sharpening imaginary stakes every time I caught sight of the trees outside. I was still simmering an hour after sunset and in no mood to be charitable to early evening visitors.

Especially not to presumptuous ones. Especially not ones with fangs.

My unwanted caller arrived while I was sitting at the kitchen table, with the back door open to catch the breeze. He didn't toot a horn to announce his arrival, like a considerate ex who appreciated his visit might not be welcome. Oh no, not like Sam at all.

This one came right on up like he owned the place and knocked on the back porch bold as brass. I tilted my chair back, craned my neck and checked the void was who I expected it to be.

Yep. There Bill was on the other side of the screen door, smiling and holding a gift.

Clearly, he reckoned two visits to the front door a month ago entitled him to knock at the back, a level of intimacy reserved for close friends and family, despite the fact we'd barely spoken in the last few years. That assumption irritated me no end.

I stood, crossed the room at a leisurely pace, and leaned against the inner doorway, making no move to cross the porch and open the screen.

"Bill," I said, my tone conveying I was none too happy to be disturbed.

He ignored that and gestured with the gift. "Good evening, Sookie. It's a little late, but I brought you a birthday present."

"Uh-huh. I was about to turn in," I lied, in no mood to spare his feelings. "Just set it on the step there."

Two small creases appeared between his eyebrows. He hesitated, and then said carefully, "I apologise for my absence. I've been away, on business, so I was unable to call on you until tonight. I thought perhaps a walk in the woods to view the town fireworks? We should be able to see them over by my house."

"That's great, but you're plum out of luck. I've had a busy day and I'm not about to go tramping through the woods." I was taking my anger out on the wrong vamp, but I didn't particularly care. The right vamp was four states away and this one was handy.

As rudely as I could, I took a drink of my iced tea, my eyes on him. I noticed his hair, brushed the way I liked it, and the smart-casual clothes he'd chosen, identical to the ones he wore when he courted me for the first time.

Goddammit, Kennedy just might have been right.

He blinked at my bad manners. "You're sure you don't want to come?"

"Yep." I popped the p, too. Bill hated that.

He chewed on my flat refusal for a second before he replied. "Of course. I will leave you in peace, then. May I call on you again?"

Oh and to complete the set, there were the old-fashioned manners he used to court me too!

Anyone would think his king had sent him to seduce me. Maybe de Castro had, now I wasn't Sam's_, _now no supe could call me 'theirs'. How stupid did they all think I was? Bill had barely said two words to me while I was married, and here he was, as soon as I was divorced, putting on the charm. Ugh.

I shrugged, not trusting myself to answer him civilly.

He looked at me for a moment, unblinking. Like a snake. Then he said, "Goodnight, Sookie."

His voice had that rich timbre, full of emotion. Seductive.

I resisted it and said sharply, "Night Bill."

I frowned after him as he melted into the darkness. Just what exactly was he up to?

His gift – a recipe book stand, useful as I'd broken my old one – made his motives no clearer. If there was a hidden meaning to it I didn't get it.

…

* * *

><p>Footnote:<p>

I read up on how liquid E effects memory. I think this is reasonably believable, given that Sookie isn't quite human. I've had a similar experience, medically induced. Scary stuff.


	8. Repercussions

**A/N:** Thanks as always for the reviews. Sorry to take up space here, but briefly answering some guest reviews:

1. Pam didn't know where Sookie was that night. My bad - I edited out a line of dialogue that hinted at that, trying to shorten Ch6. If anyone wants further explanation PM me.

2. Exposition or too many sub-plots? That's fair comment, though. This is a long winding story, but I love world-building and all the characters, not just the main ones. I hope that makes it enjoyable to read, but if it's not to your tastes, that's fine.

* * *

><p><strong>Repercussions<strong>

* * *

><p>The office was closed on Monday, so I hit the sales at the Monroe mall. Kennedy and Holly came with, and we spent the day indulging in retail therapy. I bought a few camisole tops to go with my work outfits and had a look-see at laptops for college, but decided I really needed Danny to translate the jargon for me before I laid out that much money.<p>

Vampires were the furthest thing from my mind, yes sirree.

Even when I spotted two burly Longtooth werewolves shadowing us in the lingerie department. They looked so out of place it made me smile. I'm sure my butch guards weren't real happy about trailing me around the mall, but, hey, they were getting paid good money. Some of it mine.

That night I ate out at Crawdad's Diner with Holly and Hoyt, Kennedy and Danny, and Penny. Ryan was with family, so I wasn't the only spare wheel. The meal was relaxed and enjoyable.

Up until Bill walked in with a well-dressed leggy brunette. I was mighty surprised to see him at Crawdad's with a human companion. Mighty surprised and immediately reminded of his visits to Merlotte's with Selah Pumphrey.

After they were seated at a cosy table for two, Bill glanced over in our direction. He leaned over to say something to his guest, got up and came over. I wasn't impressed with the motives my mind was conjuring up for his actions, but I hid my mistrust behind a tight smile. I was prepared to be polite. We were in public after all.

"Good evening everybody," Bill said. "If you'll excuse me for talking business for a moment…" He looked at Danny. "Did you have any difficulty with those contractors?"

Danny looked a little bewildered. "No, no. They said there'd be no problems."

Bill nodded. "How are you all tonight?" There was a murmur of replies. He smiled warmly. "I heard the food is good here." That got a more enthusiastic murmur of agreement.

"Sam recommended the place to me. I wasn't sure where to bring," he glanced back at the brunette, "Miss Padilla to impress her." He leant forward conspiratorially. "She's a sales rep for a supplier and I want to get a good deal." He twitched his eyebrows meaningfully and then looked straight at me. "Obviously, I don't know what dishes to suggest. What do you think she'd like, Sookie?"

I ignored the unspoken suggestion that I should take a look in her mind. Despite the blatant fake-excuse he gave for coming over, and the obvious way he'd singled me out, I pulled out all my years of acting experience and said pleasantly enough, "Oh, the pork chops are always good. Although Miss Padilla might prefer something lighter."

I couldn't resist a dig at her skinny ass.

Bill glanced down at my almost finished fudge brownie, and then over to his guest. "Hmm. Perhaps." He looked right into my eyes, his softening into that deep warm brown I used to love to drown in. His voice liquid and resonant he drawled, "I've never understood the modern obsession with women looking half-starved. Thank you for the advice, Sookie." Then he murmured, "Bon appétit," to the rest of the table and returned to his guest.

As soon as his back was turned Kennedy mouthed a silent "I told you so!"

I shrugged and went back to my brownie. I wasn't buying the horseshit Bill was selling either. Like it was an innocent coincidence, him turning up with Miss Glossy-Brown-Hair while I was eating with my friends.

Bill was either trying to make me jealous after I'd proved indifferent to his approaches, or Miss Padilla was genuinely just a business contact and he'd gone out of his way to reassure me. I was not invading a stranger's privacy just to find out which. Consequently, I didn't know whether to be appalled that he was using the woman, or pleased he'd at least tried to spare me the jealousy he imagined I felt.

What I really felt was exasperated that he wasn't taking the hint.

We were neighbours, nothing more. Bill's odd behaviour was a real blast from the past, a past I had no interest in repeating. I kept my attention on my friends and away from Bill, determined not to encourage him.

There were curious eyes on me, but they weren't Bill's. Our exchange had caught the interest of several other diners. Their scrutiny made me uneasy and I was real glad to leave.

…

Jody walked into the office late on Tuesday morning, alive and well. Damn. She hadn't wrapped her car round a tree driving home from Blue. Then I berated myself. I'd hate for her to DUI and hurt someone else.

Dipping into her head, I found Jody was hung over, and wishing she'd stayed home. I asked about her weekend, hoping to turn her thoughts towards the nightclub, but Pauline cracked the whip with a sharp look and handed me a stack of files to put away.

I did my sleuthing at lunch. We usually ate in the break room, and that day Leanne fetched us all po'boys from the deli down the block. They were delicious, and there wasn't much talking until we were done eating.

"So, y'all have a good weekend?" I asked, dropping my shields.

"Went to a great party last night," Jody said casually. "Big house, loaded guys. The works." All bravado – she'd been at some dive bar, with a guy who wasn't worth seeing again.

Melissa grinned. From her secret smiles all morning, things had gone well with her beau. She was thinking of him– Jonah, that was his name! – and fireworks. Actual fireworks. They were taking it slow. Aw. Cute.

"My weekend was great," she said. "How was your cookout?"

"Oh, just grand. Sunshine, plenty of food, beer and friends."

"Y'all got home okay on Friday?" Leanne asked softly.

"Sure did," I lied breezily. Leanne was quieter than ever, her confidence knocked hard by Jody's bitchy comments from Friday. I wanted to hug her and punch Jody in the face. Instead, I turned to Jody and steered the conversation to our night out.

"Oh, Jody, I meant to ask – what were those yummy shots called again?"

Her lip curled. "I guess a one stoplight town like Bon Temps doesn't have many fancy cocktails."

I shrugged of her insult, which annoyed her. Good, I wanted her off balance. I asked again. "The ones you got me after Leanne left?"

"Oh I don't …" She squinted, and I pounced on her memories as she tried to remember. "A Georgia Sunset and a Grasshopper."

She was lying, but she was picturing four shots on a tray. Three red and one green.

"The Grasshopper was the green one, right?" I asked, fishing for the rest.

She eyed me suspiciously, thinking what a dumb hick I was. "Well, duh. Sunsets ain't green."

I sat back, hiding my horrified reaction as Melissa asked Leanne if she wanted to see a movie later in the week.

It wasn't Jody.

She had no idea my drink had been spiked. She didn't know what the shots were because she hadn't bought them. Some guy sent them over, asking that the 'pretty blonde' got the green one. She handed it to me without a second thought, and like an idiot I knocked it straight back.

The guy?

Mr Creepy.

I shuddered internally. I flirted with him. Danced with him. Trusting fool that I was, I didn't check his intentions. That glimpse I got into his mind when he put his clammy hand on my wrist was disturbing beyond measure now I knew he'd roofied me.

…

That night, I called Thalia softly from the front porch. She appeared, dressed completely in black again. Maybe it was her favourite.

"Is Gerard here tonight?" I asked.

Thalia gestured over her shoulder and he appeared, nodding respectfully.

"Hi Gerard. Y'all remember two guys from the nightclub Friday night, one tall and dark, and the other a redhead?"

He scowled. "Zey were watching you. Ze dark one, 'e danced with you."

"Yep, those two. Could you find them again?"

"Mais oui. After you left, I ask some questions at ze club. It was zey who messed with your drink?"

"Uh-huh," I said grimly. "I'm gonna call Pam now."

Thalia's fangs shot down. "A hunt." Her eyes gleamed.

"Y'all can't just go around hunting folks," I said firmly. No matter what slime they were.

Thalia snorted. "No-one will miss them. Men who prey on the defenceless are scum."

I opened my mouth to argue and didn't know where to start. I threw up my hands in a helpless gesture, and went back inside the house. This was what I hated about vampire shit, all the blurred lines between right and wrong.

Pam answered her phone on the first ring. She was pleased to hear Gerard could find the culprits. I explained that Thalia was a mite too enthusiastic about catching them. I didn't want any fallout landing on Pam.

"I'll put Maxwell on it. He has contacts in Shreveport PD. Thalia can stay on duty. She will complain but I don't give a fuck." She paused. "Although it's very tempting to let her rip them to shreds. Sadly it's becoming too difficult to hide that sort of thing."

"Pam," I said sharply, "handing them over to the police is the right thing to do."

"The right thing? Sookie, do you think this is the first time those men have spiked a woman's drink?"

"I…" That flash of something ugly I caught from Mr Creepy. "No. Probably not."

"The woman wakes up confused, can't remember what happened, never goes to the police, never gets justice. Once, twice, three times and they have a taste for it. They won't stop until someone stops them."

"But … They should get a fair trial," I muttered sullenly. It was the American way. Due process, courts, lawyers, rights.

"Perhaps. In an ideal world. But in this one the process is lengthy and difficult. Would you testify against them?"

"Yes." I said firmly.

"Even if you faced some two-bit lawyer who will say you were drunk, you were seen dancing with this man and you experimented with the drug willingly?"

I hesitated.

"Now imagine you had been actually been raped. Your way is not so easy for the victim, is it? Sometimes our way is quicker, cleaner." She paused, the vamp equivalent of a heavy sigh. "But we must adapt, as Eric keeps reminding me. I will handle things the human way. I'll keep you informed."

I sighed for us both. This stuff made my head ache. "Okay Pam. Thanks."

She hung up.

Damn. I meant to ask her… Never mind. Eric had surely gone back to whichever bit of Indiana he was sheriff of by now.

I went to bed with a head full of horrors and injustices. I didn't give Jody a second thought.

…

By mid-morning the next day I was tearing my hair out.

The filing was one big snafu. Things I swore I'd filed correctly were missing, or the wrong paperwork was in the file, or the file was empty. When I had to admit to Pauline for a third time that I couldn't find what she asked for, her mouth tightened into a thin line and stayed that way.

Leanne scuttled out to get coffee to escape the tension, leaving me and Melissa sitting on the floor in front of the filing cabinets, surrounded by stacks of files and paper.

"I don't get this," Melissa said quietly, glancing over at Pauline's back. "I know you didn't mess up this bad."

"I don't understand it either."

"Let's just fix it as quick as we can."

We were still sorting and refiling when Leanne came back. Pauline took Mr Fredericks his coffee, and we were just putting the last file away when she came out of his office. I glanced at the clock and frowned. She'd been in there a long time.

She came to a halt in front of me, and I scrambled to my feet, brushing my skirt down. "All sorted out," I said brightly.

Something was wrong. Her eyes were regretful, but her face was stern. Anxious, I dipped into her mind. _It was a gamble taking her on. Such a shame. I hoped..._

"Mr Fredericks would like to see you," she said firmly.

Oh shit.

"Oh. Right." Smiling tightly, I walked down the corridor on autopilot, my hands sweating as every shitty job before Merlotte's came back to me. Bosses that yelled, leered, or were just plain disturbed by me. Melissa's urgent questions and Pauline's sharp answers faded behind me as I stared down at the blue carpet, counting my steps, fighting to keep calm.

Please, let it be just a reprimand. And don't let me lose my temper. Please.

It had been so long since I had been fired.

I wiped my hands on my skirt and knocked. Mr Fredericks, whose head was full of figures most times I'd peeked inside it, was behind his desk, waiting calmly. I took a seat, nervously twisting my hands.

"Miss Stackhouse. The disruption this morning is unacceptable. The business cannot function like this. My office has to run smoothly." He paused.

"I... Of course, Mr Fredericks. It'll never happen again." I said contritely.

"No, it won't." His eyes became sharp and hard. "This is a family business. A decent Christian family business."

"Excuse me?"

He took a handful of photos out of a drawer and spread them out carefully on his desk. "Digital cameras are amazing, aren't they? So handy." He tapped one of the grainy images. "There you are, Miss Stackhouse."

I gaped. Me and Mr Creepy getting up close and personal. Half a dozen shots of us. How in the heck–

"And the pièce de résistance." He slid a photo out from beneath the others as it dawned on me they'd been taken with a phone. Me again, in Eric's arms.

I spluttered for a second, until my temper flared. "Now look here, Mr Fredericks. What I get up to in my own time is none of your damn business. You can't–"

He cut across me, carrying on as if I hadn't spoken. "This one," he said, pursing his lips in disapproval and tapping Eric's face, "is a vampire. Not only are you behaving in an immodest manner, but you're not too choosy about who you do it with, are you?"

Reading his intentions clearly, I said incredulously, "You're firing me because I danced with a vampire at a club?"

"A vampire you left with."

"You can't do that," I snapped. There were rules. Well, proposed anti-discrimination laws that hadn't actually been passed yet.

"I can and I will." He was completely calm. "You're still in your probationary period. The mess you made of the filing gives me adequate grounds to fire you."

"Oh, how convenient," I sneered. Too convenient. I narrowed my eyes and dug into his head as I asked, "Who really messed up those files? Because it sure wasn't me."

"Who else would it be? You do the filing."

He was thoroughly convinced I was a dumb blonde who didn't know her alphabet from her ass. I had hunch the real culprit was whoever took the photos. Waving at them I asked, "Where did you get those?"

I saw her in his head, acting oh-so-reluctant to show him them and blacken my name. "Jody. Of course. That two-faced b–"

He scowled at me as I bit off the insult. Shit.

He was Jody's uncle. He'd never believe she set me up. He thought butter wouldn't melt on her spiteful little tongue. She was his favourite niece, the one he spoilt, the one he treated like a daughter.

"Miss Metcalfe has nothing to do with this," he said firmly. He kept their relationship secret because Jody asked him to, so she could make friends free from accusations of nepotism. Or at least, that's what he thought. I saw, in a flash, that she had him wrapped around her finger, and she just loved whispering poison into his ear, abusing her power over the other girls. She'd done it before, got the last girl fired.

"Oh, this has Jody's fingerprints all over it," I snapped, unable to hold my tongue.

"You brought this on yourself, Miss Stackhouse. Collect your things and be out of the office in half an hour. Pauline will sort out your paperwork."

I blinked back furious tears and tried to sound confident and reasonable. "You're making a mistake. I didn't mess up the filing."

"You're not suitable for the post, Miss Stackhouse. The camera never lies." He tidied away the pictures, offended by the sight of them. "I pride myself on looking out for my staff morally as well as materially. I can't have you influencing the others. Leanne is very impressionable. Now, please leave."

Appealing to him was futile. It wasn't even about anti-vampire prejudice, not really. He wasn't Fellowship or anything, just an old-fashioned Bible thumper who didn't approve of immoral, loose young women. Mr Fredericks had strict ideas about how we should behave. Jody had spun a girls-gone-wild tale about me jumping on every available man and he'd swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

He believed whole-heartedly he was doing the right thing. The Christian thing.

Paternalistic bull, but I'd met enough older men who thought young girls needed protecting from themselves to know it would take an earthquake to dislodge the stick up his ass. Wasn't a thing I could do to change his mind and that made me mad as hell.

Standing up, I spat out, "I wasn't the only one dancing with strangers that night. Your precious Jody is no angel. And that vamp you're turning your nose up at? Someone spiked my drink and he was the one who saw me home safe. He's worth a hundred of you."

My fierce defence of Eric took me by surprise. I might want to stake him for trampling all over my privacy, but he'd kept me safe, and I'd never doubted that. I was furious at my boss's narrow-minded assumptions.

He scoffed. "Don't make a scene, Miss Stackhouse or I'll have you escorted off the premise."

I put my hands on his desk and leaned towards him. "You're a bigot Mr Fredericks, and Jody is a nasty bitch. If you can't see her for what she is, that's gonna bite you on the ass one day." Turning to leave, I added, "Oh, and firing me is your loss."

I let the door slam after me.

If only I hadn't been so grateful for my peace and quiet. If I'd only read the minds around me more often. If only I'd been more wary of Jody.

It was an office for eff's sake. Not a vampire summit. I hadn't expected trouble.

But, as usual, trouble found me.

…

I gathered my things, silent and fuming.

Leanne watched wide-eyed, a hand over her mouth and her eyes shining. Melissa scowled at Pauline's back. As for Pauline, she was busying herself to hide her regret from the others. She hated firing incompetent but well-meaning young women. She liked me and was upset to see me leave. I was too furious with Jody and her stupid uncle to say goodbye. I managed to give Leanne a swift hug, which only made her start crying in earnest.

Thankfully, I'd parked around the side of the building, out of sight of the office. I dumped my hastily packed box into the trunk and slammed it shut, imagining Jody's scrawny neck under it.

It didn't help.

I sagged against the side of the car, adrenaline fading. Cheese and rice. I had to go back to Bon Temps with my tail between my legs. A noise made me look up. Melissa was rounding the corner. She came over and flopped against the car next to me, muttering, "This fucking sucks." She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. "Want one?"

I shook my head. "Don't smoke."

She dragged heavily on it, holding the smoke in her lungs for a few beats before she exhaled. "Stress relief." She took another drag, and said, "I know it wasn't you. Pauline wouldn't listen."

"Thanks for trying." I kicked a pebble, wishing it was Jody's head. It skittered a good way away. "I should have listened. You were right about Jody."

She stared at me. "She's not in today. It would've taken ages to–" Her eyes widened. "She has keys for the office. You think maybe she came in after hours and did all that?"

I snorted. "No maybe about it."

She cussed and flicked the ash off her cigarette, brushing my arm as she did. Without thinking I latched onto her rushing thoughts. She was re-assessing some odd things round the office, remembering Jody took against the last girl after a row. As the ideas coalesced, she became certain Jody had got her fired too. She began making wild plans to pay Jody back, indignant at the injustice.

"Be real careful Melissa," I warned. "She's Mr Fredericks' niece."

"Holy shit."

"Uh-huh. She's a clever bitch, too. It wasn't just the filing. She took photos of me dancing on Friday, convinced her uncle I'm a slut."

She swore again. "I should have warned you. Fredericks is an uptight prude. I thought that was better than my last boss. He was too friendly" she made a grabbing gesture, "if you get my drift."

"Yeah. Been there."

"I'm sorry, Sookie." She dropped the cigarette butt and ground it angrily into the gravel.

I shrugged. "I've picked myself up after more bad bosses than you know. I'll be fine." I half-grinned. "Hey, at least I don't have to divorce this one."

She was shocked. "You married your boss?"

"Yep. Waitressed for him for nigh on ten years."

She tried not to grin. "So … blonde stacked waitress married the boss? Girl, ain't you just a walking cliché!"

I gasped, pretending to be offended.

"Hey, join the club," she said. "Everyone assumes I'm from the wrong side of the tracks, broken home, father in jail, and I'll do anything to get out of the hood."

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. When we stopped, I bumped my hip against hers. "You're so much more than those fools think, Melissa. You're a smart girl."

"You too. Fuck the idiots who can't see beyond my skin and your boobs."

"Don't let that boy of yours jerk you around none, either."

"I won't." She gave me a sly grin. "He's going to have to work hard for me."

"Look out for Leanne too?"

"I will."

I gave her a tight hug. "Y'all take care."

"You too."

She waved as I drove off, and I felt a lot better.

…

My mood darkened on the way home and I landed on Michele's doorstep feeling sorry for myself. I spilled the whole pitiful story over coffee – except the spiked drink and Eric turning up, because that really had nothing to do with getting fired.

After hearing all about Jody and her old-fashioned uncle, Michele commiserated with me and bad-mouthed them in solidarity. Jason was equally pissed when he got home, muttering about lawsuits and court cases, but I had no proof and I just wanted to put it behind me. There were too many idiots in the world to fight every single one of them.

Mr Creepy, on the other hand, would be getting his. That was enough justice for me. An afternoon playing with JJ and cuddling Marie Adele sure put it all in perspective. It was just a job. There'd be another one.

Trouble was finding one wasn't so easy. There was a dearth of jobs in the local papers unless I wanted to work in sanitation or waitress again. I just wasn't that desperate.

I spent the next day at home, eating ice cream and wallowing, cramps adding to my misery. That joy was two weeks late, but I figured crossing to another realm and the stress of divorcing had taken its toll and messed up my cycle.

Amelia phoned that evening to finalise our plans. She asked if I could to get away early on Friday week, and I was vaguely positive. I pretended I didn't mention being fired because I didn't want to bring Amelia down. Not because I was too proud to admit it.

I ran errands on Friday. Same old same old with the sideways looks around Bon Temps, but I ignored it, head held high. I popped in to see Tara at the store, and told her my tale of woe.

She felt bad she couldn't offer me a job, but I was secretly relieved. I wasn't comfortable accepting charity and I didn't think our fragile relationship would survive working together in any case. Things were still rocky between us. She flinched when I mentioned JB in passing, so I certainly wasn't going to ask how things were between them, let alone mention her mystery man Clive. I wasn't ready to spill the beans about running into Eric either.

I spent the afternoon at home, doing chores. Pam phoned me not long after sunset. "Have you read today's Shreveport Times?" she asked without preamble.

"No. I have it right here though." The back pages were spread out over the kitchen table peppered with disappointingly few red circles.

"Page four. I'll wait."

"Okay. Give me a sec." I searched through the loose pages, spotting two familiar faces when I flipped the correct sheet over. My heart thudded. I skimmed the article next to the picture.

...

**POLICE APPEAL: DO YOU KNOW THESE MEN?**

Two Bossier City men, Jake Fellows, 34, and

Mike Rafferty, 37, were arrested yesterday

following an anonymous tip.

A search of Rafferty's home found a stash of

illegal drugs, including rohypnol, the infamous

date-rape drug, and a number of recordings of

sexual assaults on young women.

Shreveport PD is appealing for any woman who

thinks she may have been assaulted by these

men to contact them, anonymity guaranteed.

Counselling and support will be available.

Detective Henson told our reporter: "This is a

major case and we're making it our highest

priority. We're appealing for anyone with

information about these men to come

forward. We don't know how long they were

active, but there may be over a dozen victims."

Neighbour Frank Sheppard, who witnessed the

arrest, said, "The apartment was turned upside

down. Hell of a mess. There were always girls

going in and out. I figured an angry father caught

up with them."

Detective Henson refused to comment when asked

to confirm rumours that Rafferty and Fellows

were found hog-tied and beaten.

...

Sheppard of Judea. I swallowed bile. "How many women, Pam?"

"Enough that they won't be getting out for a long time." Pam sounded grim. "Once Maxwell found out the imbeciles taped everything, it was simply a matter of finding the evidence, setting the scene and Gerard – how can I put it? – scaring them shitless so they'd sing like canaries."

I shuddered. "Those poor women."

"Maxwell's contact will make sure they get help."

"Good, that's good. Thanks for letting me know." I could have been one of them. I had a very strong desire to shower and second thoughts over whether those two men deserved to be still breathing. Maybe Thalia had the right idea.

"I heard about your job." Margaret probably told her; she'd stuck her head in on Thursday when I didn't leave for Minden, worried I was sick.

I summarised what happened and when I'd finished Pam offered, "I could glamour them to reinstate you."

I was tempted for a second. "No, I wouldn't comfortable there now. Mr Fredericks isn't someone I want to be around. Although if you glamoured Jody into being less of a bitch to Leanne, I wouldn't object."

Pam chuckled. "I'd have to lobotomise her by the sound of it."

I remembered the bouncer in Dallas and realised she wasn't joking. "Ugh. Even Jody doesn't deserve that." Unfortunately.

"Yes, it's a shame glamour can't change the essence of someone's personality without damage. If it did, I would suggest someone glamour Leanne a backbone."

"There's nothing wrong with Leanne," I said, defending my gentle friend.

"Jody won't be the only bully she meets."

"Good point." I sighed. The whole business left a bad taste in my mouth. "I guess we can't fix the world."

"No, but putting those two degenerates behind bars has certainly improved our corner of it."

We agreed on that wholeheartedly, but I didn't feel any sense of achievement for my part in that, only disgust and world-weariness.

…

Saturday morning, over a much-needed mug of Wynn's soothing tea, I budgeted for college fees, normal expenses and the sizeable chunk of monthly income I insisted on paying towards my security. I needed to find another job fast, or once college started I'd have to plunder my savings.

Needing one did not make the perfect job miraculously appear.

Reluctantly, I swallowed my pride and worked on applying to less than perfect jobs. Then I cut the grass, which took all afternoon and left me sweating and irritable. Once the temperature cooled, I watered my new rose. Even its lovely flowers and sweet fragrance didn't cheer me up.

I berated myself again for staying tucked up safe behind my strengthened shields, for not reading Jody more often. I'd gotten complacent. It was time to pull up my panties and dive into the nastiness of people's thoughts again. Build up an immunity, toughen my hide to the unpleasantness.

I should have known better than to pick church next morning as the place to start.

_Vampire Bill lives just across from her..._

_Bet it's been going on right under Sam Merlotte's nose this whole time..._

_Explains why Merlotte's so twitchy 'bout the undead..._

Ugh. Why had I decided to listen in again?

So much for Eric driving me home starting gossip. Apparently I should have worried about a few innocent words in a public place. Speaking to Bill in Crawdad's had everyone and his dog believing I'd thrown myself back into his arms as soon as I'd divorced.

Which made no sense. Bill had been there with another woman. But, hey, why let facts get in the way of a good scandal? I was starting to think that damn wish had warped more than a few heads around Bon Temps.

The chatter was particularly mortifying as Sam had shown up for the service for first time since I got back.

He sat towards the front of church and we nodded politely to each other afterwards, outside in the sunshine, but we didn't speak. He was stiff and uncomfortable, no doubt hearing too many whispers with his shifter ears. It was a blessing that was all he could hear. People had no qualms about letting their more salacious ideas about me free in their heads, let me tell you. It was enough to make me blush.

I felt responsible for Sam's embarrassment. There wasn't even anything going on between me and Bill. Frustrated and annoyed, I didn't stay to chat with anyone, afraid I might snap and actually slap Maxine Fortenberry if her tongue wagged any faster.

Running errands the next day, I bumped into Sam at the bank. I was leaving, he was coming in.

"Oh. Hi, Sam."

"Hey, Sook." He looked surprised to see me and stopped uncertainly. "Not over in Minden today?"

"You haven't heard?" My friends, who all knew by then, were a loyal bunch and hadn't talked. I let out a world-weary sigh and admitted, "They let me go."

"Oh." He took in the slump of my shoulders and wisely didn't ask. "Their loss."

He meant it. "Thanks, Sam."

He looked down then, playing with the cashier's bag he was carrying. "I know it's not my business," he glanced up cautiously, "but I heard some talk … about Bill."

My heart sank. I said in a rush, "It's not true. Nothing going on there."

He ran his hand through his hair, and nodded. "I reckoned so from what Kennedy said, but I thought I should warn you there are rumours are going round." He pulled a face. "I guess you know what folks are thinking better than anyone."

I grimaced too. "Yeah. Lucky me, huh? Look Sam, I'm real sorry you have to hear that crap."

He nodded again and said quietly, "It's okay, Sook. I mean … what you said in your letter … it goes for me too."

I wasn't sure what he meant. "Which part?"

Two intimately familiar blue eyes searched my face. I shifted under the scrutiny.

"The part about finding someone else," he said softly. "I'm okay with you doing that. As long as you're happy."

"Oh. I …" I couldn't meet his eyes, ashamed all over again of my half-baked plan to throw my drunken ass at strangers. A sordid one night stand was not what Sam had in mind by 'finding someone else'. And if he knew Eric was involved … Well, he wouldn't be so relaxed about it, that was for sure.

He smiled fondly at my embarrassment, though. "Really, Sook. It's okay with me if y'all are ready to get busy again."

Sam had a shifter's matter-of-fact attitude to physical needs. He was smiling, teasing me because he knew I wasn't so laid back. I didn't like that. I said a little too sharply, "Even if it was with Bill?"

I sensed a blast of jealousy from him as his jaw tensed. "I can't say as he'd be my first choice." Then his eyes clouded with concern. "I meant it, Sook. Be careful around him."

I softened. "Don't worry. I'm done with vampires."

I saw and felt his flash of surprise, but the door opened behind him and a few more folks came in. He glanced over his shoulder. "I best get in line, Sook. See you around."

"Sure, Sam. Y'all take care now."

Outside in the sunshine, I wondered if I'd handled our meeting as well as I could. It was bound to be awkward between us, but things were slowly improving. I felt a glimmer of hope. We might regain our friendship yet.

Bill turned up like a bad penny that night, but I brushed him off when he mentioned that walk, Sam's face fresh in my mind. We had very brief exchange about the parish roads. A short impersonal exchange, the kind neighbours have, just to be sure he got the message.

Bill looked like he wanted to ask me what the hell had gotten my panties in a bunch, but wisely kept any such question to himself. He gave me a resigned nod and left. Good job too, otherwise I might be tempted to tell Thalia he wasn't welcome on my property any more.

The rest of the week was disheartening.

I suffered through two uncomfortable job interviews, determined to 'listen' to everything and avoid another Jody. One at a large hardware store, where I endured a litany of filth from the overweight and overconfident manager who _really_ liked blondes; and one at a quiet craft store in Ruston, where I had to bite my tongue not to respond to the disapproving sour-faced female owner who had me pegged as an airhead the second she laid eyes on me.

No job resulted from either. I shrugged it off, determined to buck their stereotyping and find something better.

But with no luck on the job front by Thursday, I was ready to call off my visit to Amelia, reckoning I should focus on finding work. Then Kennedy and Michele came over for coffee. Kennedy took one look at me and declared I needed to get the hell out of town and have some fun. Michele sealed the deal by pointing out I'd be letting Amelia down if I cancelled. Damn woman knew which buttons to press.

So I got down the suitcases I'd bought from that house clearance and filled the smaller one with enough clothes for a weekend. I was nervous about the long drive, to tell the truth, but I gave myself a pep talk. The new internationally travelled Sookie Stackhouse would take it in her stride.

It wasn't as if I'd be alone.

Wary of heading into vamp-central, I'd told Thalia my plans to visit Amelia the week before. I asked her if I would be safe in New Orleans. The feisty vampire sniffed as if I'd insulted her and muttered testily, "As safe as anywhere else."

Thankfully, Margaret had been much more reassuring when she explained the plan for my safety a few days later. Margaret and one of the Longtooth weres who had family in New Orleans would tag along and cover me in the day, staying out of sight as much as possible. Thalia and Gerard would be around at night. Pam was sure Amelia's place would be warded to the hundredth degree, so I should be safe as houses inside.

I told Margaret I figured that's where we would spend most of the weekend. Amelia needed some TLC, and I anticipated a lot of chic flicks and long talks over copious quantities of ice cream and chocolate.

Of course, I wasn't psychic, so things didn't turn out quite the way I expected.

...

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I did my best formatting the newspaper article. This site doesn't quite support making it a neat column, so sorry about that.


	9. Weekend Away

Thanks for your awesome reviews everybody. I really do enjoy reading them, good and 'bad'. We're off to New Orleans now. Buckle up for the ride.

* * *

><p><strong>Weekend Away<strong>

* * *

><p>I set off early on Friday morning, singing cheerfully along to the car radio. I took the quiet route to Jonesboro and south through Kisatchie forest, stopping at a roadside diner in Alexandria for coffee and a look-see at my map. Margaret overtook me and pulled in further down the block, understanding I didn't need my hand holding. I pretended I was alone.<p>

After coffee, I crossed the Red River and took the I49 south. An hour later I made the exit for Baton Rouge. I stopped at a fast food outlet there for lunch before I hit the I10. Heavy traffic had me concentrating on the road for the next hour and I tensed when Lake Pontchartrain came in to view. New Orleans was close, and I dreaded its busy streets.

Twenty minutes and a bucket of sweat later I turned into the French quarter, praying Amelia's directions were easy to follow. After few hairy moments with the one way streets I pulled up in front of her house, a converted warehouse with bare bricks and white shutters. It was understated compared to the other house on the narrow street, all painted vibrant colours and embellished with ornate cast-iron balconies.

Giddy with relief, I jumped out and rang the doorbell, my blouse damp against my back. Amelia bounced out with Felix in her arms. She'd grown out her hair since I last saw her and she was perfectly put together in turquoise capris and a crisp white cotton blouse. Felix was adorable, with Bob's dark intelligent eyes and mid-brown hair that I reckoned would darken to match his father's as he grew.

"You made it!" Amelia said, beaming. "I'll open the gate so you can pull in."

I grinned back, hugging her and kissing Felix on the cheek at the same time. "Hi monster! Hi Ames."

The open gate revealed a beautiful courtyard garden, hidden by the high wall. I parked on the paved drive and grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, admiring the secret explosion of greenery and trees. "Wow, Ames. This garden is amazing."

She grinned. "Thanks. It's great for growing _special_ ingredients. Wait till you see the house."

I knew it would be spectacular. Amelia had fallen in love with it as soon as she saw it.

After her father's tragic 'car accident' – which we never discussed, neither of us daring to poke that sleeping dog and risk a nasty bite – Amelia had inherited his lumber company. She kept a majority share, but turned the day-to-day running over to some trusted friend of Cope's who bought up the rest. She sold her father's 'stuffy' suburban mansion and bought this house, her dream home, and a store a few blocks away, in a prime tourist location.

Copley Carmichael's death turned out to be quite a boon for his only daughter.

Amelia gave me the tour. First, the patio behind the house, open to the garden but shaded by a sturdy trellis roof dripping with wisteria flowers. A sunken pond was set in the centre of the paving, surrounded by wicker chairs and potted palms. It was stunning.

Sliding glass doors led directly to a luxurious living room, decorated with bold black and white wallpaper. The red velvet couches weren't to my taste, but were very Amelia. There was a good sized open plan kitchen-diner, which was absolutely spotless, also very Amelia. The girl did love to clean. A corridor with wooden flooring led to the front door, a home office on one side and a small bathroom opposite it. All the while Amelia kept up a constant chatter about the changes she'd made to the house, and I made appropriate noises of appreciation.

On the second floor, Amelia showed me the master suite and Felix's room. The guest room, tastefully decorated in cool greens, was ready for me and I left my case on the bed. Peeking into the large bathroom opposite, I smiled when I saw Felix's toys scattered in the bath.

One side of third floor had been converted into a large playroom for Felix. On the other side of the stairwell there was a locked room. Amelia winked and called it her playroom. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what she did in there.

And, thankfully, I didn't have to hear about her peccadilloes. Amelia's mind had always been difficult to block – like a radio turned to full volume, a constant stream as perky and in-your-face as her spoken words – but that was before my latest dose of Eric's blood. Now I wasn't expending energy to block her. It was as simple as flipping a switch. I was stunned, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. As soon as Felix saw the playroom he wriggled in Amelia's arms, begging to be let down.

"Sookie, can you watch him for a minute? I'll be right back."

Left with Felix, I helped him get out his dinosaurs. He was as cute as a button, telling me their names and making growling noises. Amelia came back humming and opened a hatch I hadn't noticed, in the wall by the stairs. She pulled out a tray of glasses and a jug of iced tea.

"It's a dumb waiter. Saves carrying everything up two flights of stairs."

"That's real handy." And very fancy, I thought enviously. Not that my little house needed one. "I'll just go freshen up."

I came back with their presents from England and a photo album.

With a sad face, Amelia set the bottle-shaped gift for Bob aside. Felix was impressed with his soft toy, even though it was a purple dragon not a dinosaur. Amelia's eyes went wide when she opened hers: a book about Celtic legends, sacred sites and ley lines. "This is perfect, Sookie! Thanks so much."

"You're welcome." I knew she'd love it. She flicked through it, obviously itching to read it but she nodded at the album.

"Let's see the holiday snaps then."

"Thought you'd never ask," I laughed. We flicked through it while Felix played at our feet.

"I'm so jealous. Tintagel. And Stonehenge. Oh, who's this?"

"Oh, that's Wynn. She's," I glanced at Felix and lowered my voice, "some kind of supe. I couldn't read her at all." I told her about the silver sickle, the strange festival, the calming tea. "You don't know what she is?"

"No." She frowned. "Maybe you shouldn't drink that tea, Sook."

"Oh, I don't think …" I trusted Wynn, but I couldn't explain why, exactly. "I drank your herbal teas."

"But you couldn't read her. Thrice killed. That's ancient. Older beings … they have their own agendas."

"I guess." Like Niall. The topic made me uneasy.

Soon it was time to eat. We cooked fried chicken and greens together, just like old times. Well, except for wiping up after Felix. Amelia was her usual upbeat self, but every now and then she stared off into space, lost in her thoughts.

…

After Ames put Felix to bed she offered me wine, but I declined. Alcohol and I weren't on speaking terms yet, after Blue. She fetched a jug of iced tea and two glasses, and we went outside. She flicked on some fairy lights that gave the patio a soft glow, their reflections winking in the pond, and we curled up on the wicker chairs. It was peaceful, the evening murmur of the city muffled by the wall and the trees.

We chatted about mutual friends, Maria Adele, Felix. I asked her how her other baby, her store, was doing.

"Oh, pretty good." She waved her glass. "It's hard though, juggling Felix, the store and my craft."

Her punishment for Bob's transformation was long over, but I wondered if that black mark lingered. Relaxing my shields slowly so I could adjust to her loudness, I asked, "How's it going with the coven?"

"I'm a fully fledge member now. It's a good group, friendly." _Or it was until me and Bob~_ She focused abruptly on her drink._ I wish this was wine._

I figured if she didn't even want to think about Bob, I wouldn't pry. She'd tell me when she was ready. "Is it going well, the magic?"

"Oh yes," she said with a bit of the old Amelia enthusiasm. "Nathaniel is a wonderful mentor. He's taught me a lot."

"Nathaniel? Oh, Octavia retired, didn't she?"

"Yes. Nathaniel took over the coven. He's very experienced. And the store has been real useful."

"It has?"

"Sure. We buy as well as sell. I get first pick at house clearances because I pay top dollar. Lots of old houses full of weird stuff in New Orleans. That's how I found those grimoires. The store is getting a reputation for sourcing rare, hard-to-find items. Brings people in." _It's how I met~ _She coughed, and gestured with her drink. "It's increased my standing in the coven, given me some influence in the wider supe community."

She sounded eerily like Copley. "Oh. That's great. Um, what sort of spells are you learning now?"

"Oh, locator spells. Anything from lost keys to lost people." She sighed. "I don't have the knack for them, but they make money." S_o boring. I wish Nathaniel would let me move on to something more exciting._

"Does it pay well?"

"Sometimes. Did an ectoplasmic reconstruction a month ago. That was very lucrative." _Although the client got a b__it more than he bargained for, poor Mr~_

An odd hitch. That was the only way to describe it: a hitch in the flow, a stylus skipping the groove on a record. Her thoughts jumped to how useful her business acumen was for the coven. The others were all a bit useless when it came turning a profit, in her opinion. Copley's entrepreneurial spirit definitely lived on in Amelia.

I asked cautiously, "You don't do, um, curses or anything bad?"

She raised her eyebrows at that. "It's mostly protective magic. Locator spells, luck charms. Property wards like yours are very popular. Nothing harmful, no negative energy." _Except for~ I should ask about her trip._

There it was again. Amelia had few sips of tea. "So, the join … How did that happen?"

Her mind was galloping a mile a minute with questions. I winced at the cacophony, but I wanted to hear what she thought, so I gritted my teeth and kept my mind wide open. Thinking of Tara and the gossip in Bon Temps, I said, "Before we get to that, do you know if my wish could affect other people, not just me and Sam?"

"I guess it's possible, depending on the wish."

"Oh." Damn. It was a long shot, asking Amelia. I should really ask Niall. "Well, the join was kind of side effect."

With wide eyes, she asked, "How did you set the terms?"

"That was the problem. I didn't." Not exactly. I was too embarrassed to admit to my witchy friend that I'd wished Sam would never leave me, and so the join made poor Sam stick to me like glue.

"That's some powerful magic to be unlimited." _No wonder she had to get it removed. Lucky Niall was around. I don't know enough about fae magic to know where to start. Nobody does. Secretive assholes._

"Yes, and I didn't know I'd created it."

I told her about Rory Kingfisher, how she looked fae but wasn't, and how I'd seen the join, or rather Rory's mental picture of it. Amelia was fascinated. She thought Rory might be a dryad, or some other rare branch of the fairy races, but she wasn't sure.

"That's really cool though," she said, "seeing your own aura like that." _Spells that reveal auras are__ high level stuff. This Rory chick must be powerful._

"It wasn't though. My aura, or whatever it was, wasn't a pleasant sight. Rory said I was fighting the join. Poor Sam couldn't." I went on to describe some of the ugliness it created between Sam and me, ending with the fight after I'd been to Fangtasia.

She gasped, her thoughts a jumble of sympathy and horror. "He almost shifted on you? Oh my God."

"Yeah, it was pretty terrifying. The join was tearing him apart."

"So … the old gal with the mojo …" She was thirsty for answers, questions popping up so fast they were log jamming.

I smiled at her eagerness – it was so Amelia – and briefly described the main points of my trip to visit Eastorhild, her eyes getting bigger with every detail.

When I finished, she gave a low whistle. "Holy shit, Sookie. You crossed the veil. To another realm. And this woman, I don't know what the heck she was," _or __even if you saw her true face, maybe that was only one __of her aspects, maybe she's a demi-god or something, _"but that was a sacred pool. And the tree. That's a real old ceremony, tying offerings to trees."

"The whole time difference thing was weird as a three dollar bill too."

"Oh, that's pretty standard for other realms, time running differently," she said with authority, as if she 'crossed the veil' all the time. "Look at all those fairy tales about men coming back and ageing three hundred years on the spot."

"Lord, that's an awful thought. Thank goodness that didn't happen."

She eyed me thoughtfully. "Maybe it did. You were only gone six months."

Somehow the idea that my body had aged months I hadn't lived through made me feel cheated. Six months gone, all the possible moments of joy or sadness or plain old living life that I should have had stolen, vanished. That didn't please me at all, and neither did the question forming in Amelia's mind.

"So, I guess once the magic was gone, you and Sam…?"

I sighed and hugged myself. "I feel awful about the whole thing. It stole his free will. He started to hate himself over how it made him act. Plus the magic made him real sick while I was away, not that Niall warned me about that." If I sounded bitter, it was because I was.

Amelia's thought echoed mine exactly: _Damn secretive fairies._

"All the fighting drove you apart then?" she asked tentatively._ Guess she threw in the towel, couldn't forgive him for the violence, even though it wasn't Sam's fault._

I defended myself. "No. It was more than that, Ames. I never should have married him. It wasn't right."

"Why?" she asked softly. _Oh God, please don't say you never got over Eric, that he was the one. Like Tray was mine._

I shook my head. "No, it's got nothing to do with Eric." She smiled sheepish, realising I'd heard that. I took a deep breath. "Sam's a good man, and I turned to him because I didn't want to be alone. It was a mistake to do that, take advantage of the way he felt. I was looking for security. I guess I settled for that."

"Oh. You mean …"

"Yeah. I didn't love him. Not like that." It was a relief to admit it. "But he was my best friend, Ames, and I screwed that up. I really miss him."

_I know exactly how that feels: real shitty. _"I'm sorry, Sook. I'm sure if you give him some time Sam will come around."

"I hope so."

We both sighed. I looked out into the night. As my focus shifted outwards, I felt a void within range. I leaned forward, peering at the roof opposite us in the faint moonlight. Amelia gasped as a silhouette, small and fast, disappeared below the roof-line.

"It's just Thalia," I reassured her.

"Thalia? That Greek vamp from Fangtasia?"

I explained briefly about my guards. I hadn't wanted to get into the whole thing over the phone. Amelia was mildly affronted that I didn't think her wards were enough protection, but mostly she was curious about how I came to have them.

"And this is Pam's idea?" _How naive is she? This has Eric written all over it._

I bristled. "Yes, Eric set it up, but that was years ago. Eric is busy living his own life now." Back in Indiana, and good riddance after he stuck his nose in my business while I was high as a kite. "He has nothing to do with it. Pam's in charge and she does a damn fine job."

Amelia frowned. "Is that a good idea? I mean–"

"Yes." I cut her off, simultaneously slamming my shields shut. I didn't want to hear 'Sookie don't let those deaders walk all over you'; I got enough of that in Bon Temps and from Sam. "Pam is a good friend, and those guards have saved my life half a dozen times over the last few years. I'm not stupid, Amelia. I know what I'm doing." I stood up abruptly. "It's late. I'm going to bed."

I made an exit, but my anger burnt out fast. It wasn't like I wanted Eric in my life, and Amelia was just worried for me, getting mixed up with supes again. I was concerned too, but I noticed the risks hadn't kept Amelia from practising her craft, and she had Felix and another on the way to consider.

What was sauce for the witch was sauce for the telepath, I reckoned. She better accept my choices. I wouldn't tolerate her second-guessing me.

…

The smell of coffee drew me downstairs the next morning. Ames was smiling fondly at Felix as he ate a banana and babbled away to himself. She had a big mug of what smelt like ginger tea and she was nibbling some crackers. Morning sickness was a breakfast thing for Ames.

"Morning Ames. Hi Felix."

"Hi Sookie." He beamed at me. "Dada coming."

"Oh, that's great Felix." I gave him a big smile and glanced at Ames, who was suddenly busy pouring coffee and thinking song lyrics. Bob was still a touchy subject.

By the time I'd finished my coffee and was more alert, Amelia had cleaned Felix and his high-chair in a whirlwind of efficiency and he was settled in the lounge watching a video. She leaned on the counter and took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about running my mouth last night. I know you can look after yourself, and I'm sure Pam takes your safety seriously. I just assumed you were happier away from vampires and all the supe stuff. I won't bring it up again."

"Thanks. Apology accepted Ames." I smiled and she smiled back, relieved. Until I asked tentatively, "So is Bob …?"

"Oh." She looked away. "He's coming to pick Felix up for the weekend."

"Oh." Not coming home then.

"He's taking him to visit Grammy and Papa." That was what Felix called the couple who raised Bob, actually his aunt and uncle. Ames made an effort to smile. "Felix loves staying with them. So I'll be free to show you the quarter today, if you like?"

"That would be lovely, Ames. I didn't have time for sightseeing last time I was here." On my honeymoon with Sam. I grimaced and Ames gave me a shrewd look, as if she was the telepath.

"Okay. We'll spend the day playing tourist then. And maybe an evening out?"

That sounded swell to me. I said enthusiastically, "Sure, Ames. Dinner and a movie?"

"Actually … This is a bit awkward. I have tickets for a club. It's very exclusive. Everybody in the coven is desperate to get in, and I should really go for the networking." She took a breath. "It's a supe place. If you don't want to go, I'll understand."

"Oh. Vamp owned?" I had no idea who had replaced Victor in New Orleans, but de Castro's last choice of regent didn't fill me with confidence.

"No. It's run by a witch, a demon and a twoey."

"That sounds like the start of a joke: a witch, a demon and a twoey."

She laughed. "It's marketed as somewhere supes of all kinds can meet peacefully to socialise and make business deals. Of course, there's a strict no violence policy."

"Of course," I said dryly. I hoped the noble intentions meant it was a cut above Club Dead at least. "What's it called?"

"Sanctum."

I hesitated. She was on tenterhooks. I could hardly say no after I'd been so insistent that my guards kept me safe. "I guess one night wouldn't hurt." I hoped, but I planned to call Margaret and give her a heads up to be sure anyway. "Humans are allowed right?"

She looked a little confused. "Sook, I'm more human than you are."

"Oh. I guess you are." Before I could think on that, Felix interrupted us with impeccable timing, demanding a drink.

…

Ames was upstairs packing a bag for Felix when the doorbell rang. Felix's big brown eyes flooded with excitement, and he grabbed my hand to tug me off the couch. I scooped him up, tickling his stomach on our way to the door.

"Shall we see who it is, monster?" I threw the door open.

Felix squealed, "Dada," and threw himself at Bob.

Bob enveloped him in a hug, brushing my arm as I passed Felix over. A blast of his anguish and longing almost made me gasp. Felix squeezed his daddy's neck tightly and Bob mumbled, "Hi, champ. You ready to go?"

"Dada. We go Grammy's?"

Bob pulled back and gave Felix a brilliant smile. "Yes, we're going to Grammy's." Then he tore his eyes away from Felix and looked at me, his smile fading. "Hi Sookie." _Fuck, this is awkward. Does she know?_

I closed my mind to his and put on my best smile. "Hi Bob. It's nice to see you."

I carefully didn't ask how he was. The bags under his eyes and his pallor told me he was hurting bad. Amelia was too. What on earth had happened?

"Dada? Go?"

"Felix, you need your bag," I reminded him gently. Bob was standing on his own doorstep, making no move to come in, kissing his son and ruffling his hair. "Amelia's just packing it. Would you like to come in Bob?"

I didn't need telepathy to see the anger in his eyes. "No. I'll wait here, thanks."

"I'm sure Amelia wouldn't mind." Heck I had no idea, but it seemed silly to keep him on the step.

"Yeah, I'm sure she wouldn't. But I would." There was a new hardness to his tone. Even after he'd been a cat for weeks, he wasn't this angry with Amelia. I was suddenly real glad Sam had had time to acclimatise to our divorce while I was away.

Felix was agitated, picking up on Bob's mood. I reached out instinctively to calm him, rubbing his back. Bob, reminded his son was in his arms, nuzzled his hair and began telling him their plans for the day to distract him.

"Sookie, I'm just putting this by the door." Amelia's shout came from behind me, followed by approaching footsteps.

When she saw me with Bob, she panicked, scuttling towards us and saying breathlessly, "I didn't hear the door."

"I'll just, um … go and …" I backed away, and took myself off into the lounge, out of earshot.

Ames was pale and red-eyed when she came in ten minutes later. She threw herself down on the couch, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose noisily. I watched her warily from where I stood at the windows.

"What happened Ames? You don't have to tell me, but you sure look like you need a shoulder."

She looked so uncertain that I couldn't resist a quick peek.

_I don't know if she'll understand, but she's right. I have to talk to someone or I'll go crazy, and it's not good for~ _Her thoughts broke off and she put her hand over her belly. She closed her eyes, gathering herself, and I resolved to be as compassionate as I could.

"You better sit down." Her voice was quiet, shaky. "Can you stay out of my head while I do this?"

I nodded, sitting down next to her.

"Thanks." She took a deep breath. "It started a year ago. Things had been … not right for about a year before that, but I put it down to having Felix, and working all hours to get the store up and running. Bob was great about that, quitting hairdressing to help out." She swallowed. "Probably resents that now."

I patted her hand real quick, making a comforting noise.

"We argued, but not often. Bob's so easy-going. All this," she gestured at the room, "is me. The store is me. He never complained about any of it, but I didn't give him much say in it. I only realised that this last month without him. He's gone, but not much has changed. Only Felix, who misses him terribly."

"Oh, Ames. I'm sure you didn't mean to –" I stopped myself from saying ride roughshod over what Bob wanted. "You have goals, Ames, you're ambitious. He chose to be supportive of that. If he left because he resents your success–"

She shook her head. "No, no. I don't think he even noticed I made all the decisions until things went to hell. Bob's not at all selfish." She added quietly, "Not like me."

I didn't like seeing her so down on herself. "Go on, Ames. I'm listening."

"Like I said things had gotten strained, cooler. In the bedroom, too." She looked down at her hands. "We went to a party, last summer. One of my old girlfriends was there, we were all drinking, and well… I asked her to join us. Bob didn't object."

Holy crap. I fixed my face to show polite interest not total shock, but Ames looked up and winced. She knew me too well.

"I know you don't really understand … that stuff. And I'm not asking you to. Just … I didn't do it to hurt Bob. It was a wild hair, and Bob enjoyed it too. That time. We talked about it. We both thought I'd been repressing my desire for women, and if I needed to … express it occasionally … Bob said he was fine with that. Things got better for a few months."

My eyes must have been like saucers. If my casual conversation with Bill at Crawdad's had Bon Temps so churned up, this sort of thing would incite a feeding frenzy. Out of my depth, I licked my lips. "So, did you …?"

She nodded. "About three months later, we … With a different girl. I didn't want Bob thinking I was still hung up on an ex."

We. With Bob. "You didn't … on your own?"

She flushed. "The deal was, only if Bob was there."

"Oh." Nope, I had nothing else.

Amelia sat up straighter. "Maybe you're right to disapprove. I thought it was harmless fun, just spicing things up. But you know what? If it was Tray, I wouldn't have looked twice at anyone else, male or female."

My eyes filling, I said softly, "Oh, Ames."

"Don't feel sorry for me yet, you haven't heard the worst." She took a breath and then the words tumbled out of her. "Six months ago a guy walked in to the store. Handsome, broad-shouldered, rough around the edges. He's a mechanic, a werewolf."

Like Tray. And Bob was furious with her. I had an awful thought. "Oh no," I breathed, but Ames didn't hear and pressed on with her confession, as if she couldn't stop.

"His name's Ty, Tyrone. We hit it off and basically I'm a cowardly, selfish bitch. We – I won't dignify it by calling it an affair. It was just sex. We snuck around for a few months and – oh, you'll love this: he's married too, three kids – and we both knew damn well that neither of us wanted to get serious. And then," she blinked back tears, "the worst thing happened. I got pregnant."

"Is it…?"

She laughed bitterly. "I don't know. But I finally had to grow a pair and tell Bob."

Gran kept her affair with Fintan secret from Mitchell, swallowing the guilt to protect his happiness and keep her marriage intact. It wasn't right, but it saved Mitchell a lot of heartache. "You didn't want to … keep it quiet?"

She looked at me sadly. "If it's Tyrone's it's going to be pretty damn obvious."

Oh. Got it. Tyrone wasn't white. Harder to disguise than Gran's quarter-fairy children.

"Bob was devastated. I've never seen him so angry. He's still furious. The only reason he hasn't divorced me already is Felix and the chance this one might be his too. I haven't the heart to tell him we should just get it over with." Ames sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I made the same mistake you did, Sookie. Whatever we had isn't half of what I had with Tray. It fizzled out ages ago. Maybe if I'd never met Tray, maybe if I didn't know better … Bob's so kind and we had this crazy physical attraction, but it's not enough."

Eric, that fire between us that burnt hot and fast. Sam, a friendship that should never have been more. Channelling Michele and Kennedy and Pam I searched for some wise words.

"If you're not right for each other it's better to cut your losses sooner rather than later. Bob will be happier, in the long run." Poor Bob. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "And you deserve to be happy too, Ames. You'll find another Tray." I squeezed her hand.

"Maybe." _Don't believe that. He was one of a kind. Didn't know what I had._ She sniffed loudly. "Thanks, Sookie. And thanks for listening. You're a real friend. I... I'm going to go shower."

"Sure. Take your time." I figured she needed to be alone. To be honest, I needed some solitude to absorb what she'd told me too.

…

Amelia showed me round the quarter, covering up her distress. If my tour guide's mask slipped occasionally and her smile wavered, I could hardly blame her.

I knew she'd done Bob wrong, but I couldn't condemn her for breaking her vows. Rationally I knew I should, but I'd forgiven Gran worse, and at least Amelia hadn't compound her transgression with years of lies. All my heart knew was that my friend was hurting, Bob was hurting, Felix was upset and Amelia was facing raising two children alone with no family support. No need to make a bad situation worse. I did my best to be cheerful and enthusiastic for Amelia's sake.

That wasn't so hard. I could see why she'd picked the neighbourhood: the fantastic boutiques. The one at the end of her street sold amazing shoes, and the vintage clothing stores one street over were wonderful. I fell in love with one called Curvaceous Kitten and splurged on a new outfit that fitted my curves beautiful. The quirky stores were my favourites though, full of colourful masks for the masquerade balls in Mardi Gras season, and the most unique jewellery I'd ever seen.

My feet were aching when we got to Jackson Square with its beautifully groomed park. I watched the horse-drawn carriages passing by with longing. Café du Monde was busy, but we lucked out and got a table outside by the railing. Amelia's pregnancy made her sensitive to smells and she needed fresh air. We pigged out on beignets, the fruits of our shopping spree spread around our feet.

"So, you want to see the store this afternoon?" she asked.

"I'd love to." I was curious to see it. I licked sugar off my fingers and took a big gulp of my iced coffee, glancing over my cup at the sidewalk. A tall figure was striding towards us, his head bobbing above the crowd. A bald, tanned, familiar head.

I lowered my drink slowly, frowning. I hadn't seen Quinn since he'd turned up at my house out of the blue a year ago, seemingly with the express intent to rile Sam. I had a sudden urge to hide.

He broke into a huge smile when he saw me, and came right over.

"Hello Amelia. Sookie, what are you doing here?" His eyes locked on mine and I wished I'd kept my sunglasses on.

"Hi Quinn. Just here for the weekend," I gestured at our bags, "doing some shopping. I could ask you the same." I opened my shields a crack, focusing on him.

"Here for a job." He leant on the railing, stooping over. "I heard about Sam. How is he?" _… bad business, hard on his family … _

Oh, he meant Sam's 'coma', not the divorce. "He's good."

"And you?" _Where were you last winter?_ He sent that to me, clear as day.

"Fine, thanks." Frowning slightly, he opened his mouth to repeat himself verbally, so I added, "I've been away. Got back about six weeks ago."

Still frowning, he said, "Yeah? I stopped by the house in January. Jason said you were overseas."

Feeling predominately concern from him, I softened. "Yeah. England. With family."

He searched my face and said quietly, "You in trouble?"

"No. I'm fine, Quinn." I wished that wasn't such an easy conclusion for him to jump to, based on past experience. Our trek through the swamp last time we were together in New Orleans, for instance. Sighing, I brushed a strand of hair off my face.

Quinn's eyes narrowed, fixing on my hand as it moved. Oh hell. Conscious of my empty ring finger, I tucked my hand out of sight, under the table. Too late. His eyes flicked to my face and bored into mine. His emotions swirled too fast to follow, but I heard: _When? How? Did Sam…?_

He didn't know. Perhaps he didn't have an ulterior motive for bumping into me this time.

"Something happen between you and Sam?" he asked cautiously.

"You could say that. We're divorced."

His jaw clenched, and he was lost for a reply.

Amelia came to the rescue. "Are you in town long, Quinn?"

I sat back, happy to let her take over the conversation.

Quinn shrugged his muscular shoulders. "Just a few days."

She leaned towards Quinn, dropping her voice. "I heard Belle Chasse was up for grabs. Is that what you're here for?" _That pack needed a new leader. Last time I was out there for a ~_

"Yeah. Yesterday." Quinn was irritated.

"Did it go smoothly?"

Quinn shrugged. "You know what they're like out there." S_ome hairy shit, but it was better than~_

Strange. That hitch again. I doubt I would have noticed it in Quinn's snarly mind if I hadn't been around Amelia since yesterday constantly picking it up from her.

Amelia gave Quinn a wink. "Well, you're still in one piece."

"Yeah, no-one messes with me," he said grimly.

"So … you heard about that swanky new place?" There was a hint of smugness in Amelia's voice.

"Yeah."_ I wonder if … _A slow smile spread across Quinn's face. Now his attention was off me, I could appreciate how it made him look. Quinn was a handsome man. I saw a hotel lobby in his mind, and Quinn, full of curiosity, opening an envelope. Between that and his smile I wasn't really listening to what Amelia said next.

"I have invitations for tonight."_ Please don't ask__ if Bob's going. Please._

"I've got one too," Quinn said, smiling. "You ladies need an escort by any chance?"

"Sure, that'd be lovely," Amelia said, smiling_. "_You could pick us up at, say, nine? Let me give you my address."

She pulled a card out of her purse. Realising what had just happened while I was busy _appreciating_ Quinn, I glared a warning at her. She ignored me and handed him the card.

"Thanks. I have to get going. Enjoy your lunch, ladies. I'll see you tonight."

He shot me one last smile, warmth in his pretty violet eyes. I stamped down hard on the thrill it gave me, but Amelia gave me a knowing look as he left.

Folding my arms I said, "Why d'you invite him along Ames?"

"What? It was a spur of the moment thing. I'll feel better if he's along for the ride. Trouble does have a habit of finding you, Sook."

Exasperated because I knew she had a point I snapped, "You better not be matchmaking again, Amelia Broadway."

She shrugged, but her eyes twinkled. "I'm not asking you to marry the guy. It's not like he'll be sticking around. He's just passing through."_ Where's the harm in having a little fun? She's single._

"Ames! I don't do one night stands." Not successfully. I flushed, thinking of my last catastrophic attempt. With another ex too. I wasn't ready to date.

"Maybe you should. Got to get back on the horse at some point." She chuckled. "Or the tiger."

…

I forgave her when she suggested a carriage ride. We saw the sights in comfort, and got off in an area with some … interesting stores. We visited a lingerie place run by a friend of Amelia's, with lovely silk and lace underwear out front and a back room full of leather and things that made me blush; a store full of gems and crystals run by another friend; and another store where they made herbal remedies to match your symptoms and horoscope.

"Oh, we have to go in here." Ames grabbed my elbow, and pointed at the sign.

The Upturned Cup: tea shop and psychic readings.

Inside, tourists drinking tea and eating cake took up most of the tables. A large Creole woman was sitting at a back table, laying out tarot cards for a client. She certainly looked the part, in her colourful prints. Dark hair escaped from her headscarf, and she was wearing heavy hooped earrings and several thick gold necklaces.

Amelia waved at her and smiled. "Great, Rosa is here. She does the best readings."

Rosa waved us over when she was free, bracelets jangling on her thick arms. She was human, as far as I could tell. Her voice was rich and warm. "Amelia, how are you, chickadee? You want a readin', or is it your friend?

"Go on Sook, it'll be fun," Amelia said."

I went along with it without much enthusiasm, drinking the strong tea while Rosa chatted to Amelia, then up-ending the leaves onto the saucer like she said. Rosa stared at the pattern. Then she looked up and gave me a big wink.

"Don't look so worried, chile. I don't bite."

I smiled tightly, a crazy smile. Either Rosa had her own brand of crazy, or she was in it for money, or … Well, if she really saw the future, I didn't want to know. I stayed out of her head.

"Hmm. You've travelled far. A long, long way. Risky trip." She looked up, her deep brown eyes crinkling kindly. "Almost a world away, eh?"

I nodded cautiously. Next to me Ames sucked in her breath and held it.

Rosa trailed the tip of her pinkie through the wet tea leaves. "You stand at a fork, a cusp. Two paths before you. One is easy, but," she raised her pinkie, dark leaves sticking to the glittery pink nail varnish she was wearing , "choose the rocky one and it will make you stronger, bring you lasting joy in the end."

I looked at the saucer, but all I saw was a soggy mess. Her words echoed that feeling I had leaving England though: that: I stood at a crossroads and change was coming.

"Anything else?" Ames asked, disappointed on my behalf.

Rosa chuckled, shaking her belly and generous bosom. "No Amelia, my little chickadee. That's all I see. No tall, dark and handsome for your friend. What did I tell you 'bout that?"

Amelia grimaced. "Stay away from tall, dark and handsome."

"And you didn't listen." Rosa wagged her chubby finger at Amelia, and then patted her arm kindly. "But it will work out, chickadee. If you learn from it."

We thanked her, and made way for the next customer. Two women came in the door as we were leaving. Amelia cursed under her breath and then exchanged frosty hellos with them as she ushered me out.

Broadway Curios was close by, tucked away in a courtyard, a sign on the street announcing its location. The window displayed a mixture of old and new books, ethnic masks and purple amethysts the size of dinner plates. Inside there was a large display of gemstones and crystals, a couple of bookcases of books, and several glass cases of ornaments – cigarette lighters, belt buckles and jewellery, all with a Gothic theme. Vampires, bats, witches, gravestones, that kind of thing. The handful of customers browsing quietly looked to be tourists, not locals.

Amelia spoke briefly to the guy manning the register. His hair was dyed deep red, and he had a nose ring and two eyebrow piercings, but I guessed that fitted the theme. We went through a red velvet curtain behind the counter. There was a kitchenette back there, but Amelia unlocked a side door and led me upstairs to a fancy reception room with comfortable chairs.

"Downstairs is for tourists," she said. "This is the real deal. Come see the storeroom."

She unlocked a thick door, muttering something as she turned the key. The storeroom was lined with shelves stuffed with bundles of dried herbs, neatly labelled jars of ingredients, leather-bound books and an assortment of candles. There were other, weirder items I couldn't identify. A sturdy wooden table was strewn with parchment and oddly-shaped gemstones, and there was a trunk darkened with age in the corner, a couple of daggers sitting on its lid.

I made impressed noises without knowing what half the things were, then Amelia locked the storeroom up and we sat down in the leather armchairs.

"So, who were those women at the tea shop?" I asked, slipping off my shoes and rubbing the balls of my feet.

"Coven members. Neither very powerful," she said disdainfully. "What did you get off them?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Give it to me straight, Sook."

"Margo was hoping Bob will be single soon." Margo, the older, meaner brunette, also thought Ames didn't deserve Bob in the first place, but I kept that to myself.

Ames groaned. "And Clara?"

The younger and kinder one I'd recognised from warding my house. "She's worried the heartache between you and Bob will cause problems for the coven."

"I am too," she admitted. "Ugh, it's one big mess. I hope Rosa is right and it all works out."

I stayed quiet, not wanting to express my doubts about the accuracy of Rosa's predictions.

Amelia sighed. "I guess we should head home. Fancy takeout? I don't feel like cooking and it'll give us more time to get ready for Sanctum."

"Sure, Ames. I'm all shopped out."


	10. No Sanctuary

Before we go any further, Eric wanted a word.

_Yes, Sookie is stubborn, proud and infuriatingly short-sighted at times, but so is he. She's also hard-working, creative and loyal. Sometimes to the wrong people, but, hell, he was loyal to Ocella. Sookie is making her life her own, as she should. She doesn't owe him anything. Not even if he still loves her. That doesn't entitle him to anything in return._

_Demanding affection was Ocella's way, not his._

_And don't pity him – he hates that. He's big enough to _handle_ himself. *smirk*_

**A/N: **Some housekeeping:

1. I'll aim for once a week over the holidays, but bear with me.

2. For those missing Eric: pov switches back & forth for a few chapters, then there's a long section of Eric. Yay!

3. Hi guest: I'm puzzled, how would that work? The bombing was daytime. Felipe couldn't know Andre was vulnerable or contact Quinn. If Quinn was already working for Felipe, why kidnap his family? Interesting idea though. I was always leery of Quinn acting as Sophie-Ann's errand boy myself.

Okay, here we go. Buckle up and keep your hands inside the ride at all times.

This may rate a box of tissues, or a punching bag. Or tomatoes to throw at me.

…

Remember. DON'T PANIC. Big friendly pink letters.

* * *

><p><strong>No Sanctuary<strong>

* * *

><p>Quinn rang the doorbell at nine on the dot. A gleaming black Lexus waited kerbside, behind him. The events business was sure doing great.<p>

While Amelia locked up, Quinn looked me up and down, and practically purred his appreciation. Giving Quinn a warm smile, I complimented him right back. The man scrubbed up well; looking gorgeous in his grey suit.

My dress was midnight blue and off the shoulder, with an embroidered bodice and a flaring skirt. I had new shoes to match and my hair was up in a simple twist. I'd borrowed a gold purse and necklace from Ames, but Quinn's reaction was the finishing touch my outfit needed. If I looked half as confident and assured as he made me feel, I would fit right in at Sanctum. Amelia said it was very upmarket.

Amelia's cream dress had a blue and brown geometric print that set off her colouring perfectly. Quinn complimented her too, holding the passenger door open with a glance at me. The man got points for politeness, but I opted for the back, getting in before anyone could protest. This wasn't some sort of date whatever Ames might imagine.

It was a short drive to the warehouse district. Amelia pointed out Sanctum, an unmarked three-story building painted in sage green with sash windows picked out in cream. As we drove past, I noticed the first floor windows were blocked up. Quinn turned into the narrow one-way side-street next to it.

A wall, topped with spikes, extended from the club to the next building, which looked to be a parking garage. A limo pulled away in front of us and Quinn pulled up opposite a plain white door in the wall. An elegantly dressed couple were disappearing through it, ignoring the two bulky men in suits and wearing earpieces – werewolves, when I checked –standing guard on either side.

A skinny guy in a valet uniform hotfooted it over to us. Taking Quinn's keys, he told us to keep our invitations in our hands as we went in. Ames and Quinn didn't bat an eyelid, so I fetch the thick embossed card out of my purse.

No oppressive urge to leave overwhelmed me on the sidewalk, but the card felt heavier as we passed through the door and I shivered. Amelia clutched her invitation, whispering, "That's one hell of a ward."

Classier than Club Dead so far, depending on what happened if you didn't have an invitation. Maybe you got bounced butt-first onto the sidewalk? I wasn't eager to find out.

Inside the wall was a paved courtyard, with a fountain that glistened in the soft lamplight. Past the fountain, another hulking pair of twoeys in suits waited next to a burning brazier, an odd sight given the warm night. One of them held a clipboard.

The breeze picked up and Quinn stiffened. He locked onto the larger twoey, keeping his eyes fixed on him as we walked over. The guy had a neat goatee and was as black as the night.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman. Your invitations, please." He spoke with a deep crisp English accent, his teeth flashing white.

Quinn stepped forward protectively and said with a hint of challenge, "Leopard."

"Tiger," he answered laconically, his mouth lifting at one corner.

Were-leopard. I hadn't met one of those.

"You're new in town," Quinn said rudely. His shoulders were tense. "Who are you?"

"Levi Jameson." He bared all his teeth, flashing a quick, wide smile. "And you are?"

"John Quinn."

"Ah, the infamous pit fighter." He glanced at clipboard guy, who nodded and crossed off what I guessed was Quinn's name. Levi the leopard held out his large hand for Quinn's invitation, took it and tossed it into the brazier. The card flared blue, burning unnaturally fast with a smell of cloves.

Levi said firmly, "There is no fighting here, tiger."

Quinn stared him down, and then broke eye contact. "I didn't come to fight."

"Good. No shifting. The rules are enforced ruthlessly." Then he added with no trace of welcome in his voice, "Welcome to Sanctum."

He held out his hand again, towards Amelia.

"Amelia Broadway, witch." Ames said politely, handing over her square of card.

Clipboard guy nodded and crossed her off his list. Her invitation met its fiery end. Levi gave Amelia a toothy smile. "No spells, Ms Broadway. Welcome to Sanctum."

He turned to me and I held out my invitation.

"Sookie Stackhouse, telepath." Not ashamed to say it, either.

His smile broadened and once I got the approving nod he tossed the card casually into the fire. "Hmm. We don't have rules for rare creatures like you. Don't ruffle any feathers with your gift. Weapons must be left at the coat check."

"Should I hand in my nail-file?" I said flatly, offended that he assumed the weak little human might be armed.

He threw his head back and laughed, throaty and rumbling. His amber eyes twinkling, he said warmly, "I think we can trust you with that. Welcome to Sanctum, Ms Stackhouse."

I smiled back. "Thank you, Mr Jameson."

The door slid open behind him and he waved us into the brightly lit lobby. Definitely classier than Josephine's. The floor was marble, or some similarly expensive stone, and two beautiful girls manned the coat check counter.

One smiled as we passed, revealing sharp teeth.

Elf.

I suddenly felt very human. Classier didn't mean safer.

I wasn't going to ruffle any feathers, no sirree. I wouldn't be able to read most of the clientèle clearly anyway, only the witches. Powerful witches could sense the mental intrusion and didn't react well. I might drop my shields once or twice to get a general impression of mood, but I wasn't going to push my luck.

We entered the main room and a pale man with dark hair and an expensive suit bounded over, all elbows and knees and enthusiasm. Smiling broadly and speaking with a soft Scottish burr he said, "Welcome to Sanctum. I'm your host, Malcolm Craw."

Amelia stepped forward eagerly, shaking his hand. "Pleased to meet you. Amelia Broadway, of the Dumaine Street coven."

Malcolm tilted his head curiously. "Broadway … Ah! Anything to do with the store?"

Amelia beamed. "Yes. I'm the owner." Then her eyes widened. "Craw? Are you a descendent of … well, um ...?"

"William Craw of Bo'ness, burnt at the stake? Very distantly, yes."

Malcolm was the witch owner then. I trailed after them, exchanging an amused look with Quinn as Amelia did her best to ingratiate herself with our host. Malcolm was equally effusive, giving us – well, Amelia really – a quick tour, obviously very proud of his club.

The place was lovely: soft lighting, fresh blues and greens, pale wood. Modern, uncluttered and calming, not clinical. There was an informal seating area dotted with potted plants, reminiscent of Pam's new-look Fangtasia, and an open area by the bar, where people were mingling to 'blether' as Malcolm put it. A dozen assorted supes stood chatting quietly as muted jazz floated over from the club proper.

A glass wall, waist-high and painted with a stunning mural of exotic flowers and butterflies, separated the two areas. Standing by it, we could see the whole place. Steps at either end of the wall led down to a wooden dance floor surrounded by semi-circular booths with generously stuff green leather benches. There was a band in the far corner providing the jazz.

The lighting was dimmer than the bar, but my human eyes still saw the whole thing just fine. There were no dark corners no nooks and crannies, nowhere to hide. I guess they'd designed it that way. Everybody could see everybody.

Malcolm explained to Amelia that the booths were warded for privacy so business could be conducted in the open. If the participants were wary of each other, I assumed. Another owner, a part-demon called Ariadne Jones, provided legal services, and rooms upstairs could be hired for delicate negotiations. I sensed Quinn's irritation when Malcolm revealed Levi was the twoey owner. Something told me Quinn and the leopard weren't going to be best buddies.

The Scottish witch blethered – I liked the term, it suited him – about their ethos of bringing different supes together and fostering harmony until another party arrived and he excused himself to greet them.

They obviously took that ethos seriously: the band was a mix of vampires and twoeys.

Amelia wanted a good vantage point, so we sat at the end of the bar, soaking up the ambience. I asked for orange juice, wanting my wits about me. The pretty blonde bartender, another twoey, batted her eyes shamelessly at Quinn as she served our drinks. Amelia took off to talk to someone she recognised, leaving behind an awkward silence.

I broke it, asking Quinn how his job was going. He mentioned the places he'd visited in the last few months, not giving much away about his clients, which was fine with me. So was the warmth of his smile and the heat of his arm brushing against mine.

I was a single woman. No harm in appreciating the company of a handsome man.

Amelia came back beaming. She flitted off repeatedly during the next hour. I got the distinct impression inviting Quinn was her idea of throwing me a bone so she could abandon me guilt-free to network. So much for the heartbreak going on in her personal life. She definitely had her father's ambition and drive.

Eventually I spotted someone I knew: Genevieve Thrash and her husband David, the former Lieutenant Governor. I'd last seen the older couple at Sophie Ann's abbey, at a memorable party that ended in a gruesome bloodbath. The intervening five years had treated the Trashes well; they glowed with health. I excused myself to say hi, leaving Amelia to a taste of her own medicine.

Genevieve took a moment to recognise me, but a glance at Quinn did the trick. Ever the politician's wife, she recovered gracefully. "Oh, yes. I remember. Sookie. A barmaid, wasn't it? How are you finding business these days?" If she thought I was a fish out of water in the high-class joint, she was too polite to say.

"Oh... It's been better," I fudged, not wanting to admit I was currently out of work.

"Still with...?"

"Quinn? Oh, no ma'am. Just a coincidence we're here together."

We chatted about sightseeing in New Orleans until I mentioned I'd been disappointed Mr Thrash hadn't been on the ticket last election. He was deep in discussion with Malcolm Craw and a short, overweight man in a brown suit.

"Not as disappointed as David was," she said, sighing. "I should join him. Thank you for warning us all those years ago." She gave me a warm smile and squeezed my arm._ He tried so hard to convince the party voters could see past the wolf._

Oh. That explained why he hadn't run. I sighed too. Twoeys had a way to go until their nature became irrelevant in public life. Amelia had disappeared again and when I got back Malcolm pulled Quinn away to speak to someone. I sat alone at the bar, enjoying the peace.

"Wotcha," said a voice right behind me. I almost fell off my stool in shock.

"Don't do that," I gasped, turning round with my hand on my chest, feeling a buzzing mind behind me. "Diantha?"

The elegant lady in front of me didn't look like Diantha. Her hair was dyed indigo, but it coordinated nicely with her purple kimono-style dress. The sturdy boots peeking out beneath it were a glimpse of the real Diantha, though.

She grinned widely, flashing her sharp teeth. "Whatcha think? I'm incognito."

"Oh. What for?"

She rolled her eyes. "Guarding you. Must be working, 'cos I've been sitting right there and you didn't notice me. Didn't come over until you were alone, case yer friends didn't know."

"Oh. I wasn't expecting you."

She shrugged. "I blend in better than Thalia."

I grinned. "Yeah. Can't see her liking the whole peace and love vibe."

Diantha snorted in a very unladylike way, somewhat ruining her 'disguise'. "Me neither. Tiger-boy is coming back so I'll be off. See ya."

I indulged in a little more casual flirting to boost my ego, and then excused myself to powder my nose.

The bathrooms had an excess of marble and a female sink attendant, of some unknown species that tended to muscle. She politely but silently handed me a towel to dry my hands on. I figured she was stationed there for security, not to wait on customers. Pretending not to find her presence off-putting, I spent a minute fixing my hair. Coming out, I found the pretty bartender was flirting with Quinn in my absence.

He was enjoying her attentions. Maybe his ego was too big for one woman to stroke I thought sourly, stuffing my brush back into Amelia's tiny purse.

Damn. It wouldn't close.

Moving away from the bathroom entrance, I paused by the steps that led down to the dance floor, shuffling the contents of the overfull purse, a procedure not helped by my irritation with Quinn. A door opened below me and I vaguely registered a void and a buzzing demon mind as I struggled with the clasp.

"… is ready, your majesty."

"Good. Thank you, Ariadne."

That voice. Simultaneously the purse snapped shut and my head snapped up.

A tall, long-limbed, generously padded woman stood near the bottom of the steps. Ariadne.

With Eric.

Eric, his back to me, in a black tux, hair loose and glowing like pale spun gold, body as beautiful as Michelangelo's David. A throb of lust engulfed me, increasing my irritation tenfold. Our last meeting flooded back – at least, the fragments of it that my mind held onto flooded back – and that fanned my irritation into a fury that flared bright and hot as Eric took a step towards the dance floor.

"Eric," I called sharply.

He glanced around and blinked.

I stepped forward, hands on hips. "I want a word with you, buster."

Ariadne inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. In the calm that comes with absolute rage, I noticed her irises were a few shades lighter than the deep violet of her pant suit. Her eyes, almond-shaped and framed by thick dark lashes, were lovely against her caramel skin and jet black hair.

His face blank, Eric came slowly back towards me. I was entirely too pleased to find the steps put me above him, and I glared ferociously down at him as he said smoothly, "Sookie. Are you well?"

Ariadne stepped back deferentially and in a flash her earlier words clicked into place.

"You're a king?" I blurted out.

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "You are surprised."

"Hell, yes." I didn't say: I thought you weren't interested in a throne. Freyda said you liked being a big fish in a little pond.

"You've been back a month. Pam didn't mention it?" His eyes flicked towards the door he'd come through. "That's not like her. She likes to crow it from the rooftops." His lips curled with the ghost of a smirk that I wanted to slap off his arrogant face.

"It must have slipped her mind, _your majesty_." I couldn't fit an ounce more sarcasm into his title. I tried.

Indiana.

He'd taken Indiana. I knew what that meant. I'd seen takeovers; they never ended well for the royal being dethroned. Or more likely, decapitated. Vampire or not, Bartlett and his husband had loved each other.

I asked coldly, "All bloodshed and mayhem, was it? Russell must be devastated."

That crease between Eric's eyebrows deepened, but before I had a chance to throw out another barb the door opened. Pam appeared, her eyebrows lifting when she saw me. She smoothed her expression fast and scanned the club. Something behind Eric, across the dance floor, caught her attention. Curious, I craned to look over the _royal_ pain-in-my-ass.

Just great.

Rory Kingfisher, wearing a deep green dress fit for a fairy queen, was sliding out of a booth. She said something to the folks she was leaving and started towards Eric eagerly, beaming a warm smile. Then she saw me, half-hidden behind him, and her smile wavered.

Pam drawled, "The annoying Miss Kingfisher is here."

Eric turned. I couldn't see the look he gave Rory, but her expression lit up with pleasure then fluttered through puzzled to settle on uneasy. She stopped a few feet away.

I was damned if I was calling her your highness. No matter how many million dollars she looked in that dress.

A faint pulse of concern, muted by my shields, distracted me. Directed at me specifically, with a whisper of my name, it came from the bar. Quinn had finally torn himself away from the blonde and noticed I was missing. He was one worried kitty, padding across the room looking for me. Just purr-fect.

I caught his eye and shook my head, hoping he'd take the hint. He stopped, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric shift forward to see who I was signalling. Quinn tensed immediately and stalked forward again, glowering.

Eric, expression indifferent, shoved his hands in his pockets.

I groaned. Wonderful. An inane tiger-vamp territorial dispute was about to erupt, fuelled by unadulterated testosterone. It would do nothing but infuriate me, the territory in question. Before that calamity befell us all, Diantha appeared next to Eric and a silent shadow materialised besides me, startling me.

Levi Jameson put his hand gently on my elbow and said amiably, "Ms Stackhouse, I told you not to ruffle any feathers." Then he nodded respectfully to Eric. "Louisiana."

What the hell?

I scrambled to make sense of that greeting while Levi quietly asked Eric if there was a problem. Diantha eyed Eric warily, inching herself between him and me. Eric said something reassuring and Levi cautiously let go of my arm. I was dimly aware of Malcolm Craw intercepting Quinn in the background.

"Whoa there," I said, raising a hand and treating Pam to her very own glare. I hated being kept in the dark more than anything. "Louisiana, not Indiana?"

Eric nodded curtly.

"You killed de Castro? That snake is finally dead?"

"No. Nevada survives." Eric was plum regretful about that.

"So, how did you … What, you had a secret army stashed somewhere and kicked his sorry butt all the way back to Las Vegas?"

His mouth twitched. "Something like that, but here is not the–"

"You know what?" I said, proud I wasn't yelling. "I don't need to know. That's not important. I want an explanation for the other night, for that interrogation you gave me."

Before Eric could answer, Levi coughed politely. All heads swivelled to him, but he was cooler than an English butler. "Perhaps this would be better discussed in private."

Eric considered that, and nodded. He turned to the demon woman. "Ariadne, perhaps your office?"

"Of course, your majesty. Come this way, Ms Stackhouse." She gestured at the door they had come through.

I came down the steps, sorry that there were so few and my heels weren't suited to stomping. Maybe this wasn't the place for childish fits of pique, and maybe I should be glad my dignity was still intact, but it sure would've taken the edge off. Levi hovering behind me like I might explode any second wasn't helping my frayed temper none, either.

Diantha stepped forward and asked quietly, "Want me to come with?"

I shook my head. "I don't think _his majesty_ will appreciate an audience while I nail his butt to the wall."

Diantha snickered, and out of the corner of my eye I caught Pam turning away to hide her smile. Eric stiffened ahead of me. Good. My remark hit home.

He disappeared through the door Ariadne was holding open. As I passed her I got a whiff of her perfume, or maybe her natural scent: all smoke and warm spices, distinctive but not unpleasant. Ariadne closed the door, shutting out the noise from the club. Eric was already striding down a corridor to the left. He stopped opposite the last door but one – the last, at the end of the corridor, was labelled 'Backstage' – and leaned nonchalantly against the wall. We traipsed after him.

Ariadne assessed me with a glance before asking him, "Want an adjudicator, Eric? Or a witness?"

Eric shook his head, rude as ever.

I pulled out my manners and dusted them off. "No thank you, Ms Jones. We'll manage just fine. We'll be out of your hair before you know it. This won't take long to straighten out."

She said drily, "I do hope so, Ms Stackhouse."

She typed something into a keypad and pressed her hand against the door, muttering something under her breath. The lock clicked, and she cracked the door before stepping back, motioning Eric forward. He pushed himself off the wall and went in.

Ariadne touched my arm as I started after him. "You know Eric well?"

"Yep."

"So you know how he is."

"Yep." She was warning me not to trifle with _his maj-ass-ty_.

"He is fair, though. Present your complaint logically, and he will listen."

"Uh-huh." It was a shame that when Eric and I were concerned, logic was first to dive head-first out the window and splatter its brains out on the sidewalk.

"And if you could leave my office as you find it, I would appreciate it."

"Of course." Shouldn't she be asking the vampire king who could do a lot more damage to her room? Then I twigged: she was delaying me, hoping I'd calm down some before I faced his high-and-mightiness.

Who I found leaning back against her desk on his outstretched arms, his legs crossed at the ankles.

He inhaled pointedly as I shut the door behind me. "Are you … with the tiger?"

"No," I snapped. "And that's none of your damn business."

He nodded and gestured at the couch. "Sit. I have a feeling this will take a while."

"No thanks. I'll stand." I crossed my arms and jutted my chin defiantly. "What you did think you were doing, interrogating me while I was drugged? That was lower than a snake's belly, even for you."

He shrugged and said blandly, "I am an opportunist. You know this about me."

I snorted. "Really? So you couldn't pass up the chance to stick your big beak into my business and humiliate me."

He contemplated that, and then answered quietly, "Humiliating you was not my intention. I … wanted answers."

"And you didn't care if you violated my privacy to get them. Because you know damn well I would've told you to go straight to hell if my mind was clear."

"Yes. Ordinarily, you are not so … forthcoming."

"That's rich after that hogwash you fed me after the divorce. Don't think I don't know that was a pack of lies."

"I told you all the truth I could that night."

I scoffed. "You flat out lied that night."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Did I?"

I didn't see the humour. I spat out: "You're a manipulative jerk!"

His face went neutral again. "Yes. You know that about me too."

This was getting me nowhere. I aimed my next thrust at a softer target. "What the hell was all that about Deidra's wedding? You lost the right to complain about me kissing anybody after what you did with that Rowe bitch, buddy."

He looked down at his shoes, jaw clenching. Score one for me.

When he looked up, I had to lock my legs so I didn't step back. He was extremely pissed. He said very quietly, "Perhaps not the kiss, but I have every right to be offended by your little charade."

"What?"

His eyes flashed and his accent thickened. "It was extremely reckless to go along with the pretence you were Merlotte's. De Castro was looking for a way to bypass the pledge. If he had got wind of it, it would have put me in a difficult position and you in danger."

Oh. That.

Maybe he had a point there. That hadn't been my smartest move. Eric one, Sookie nil.

Hell-bent on coming out ahead for once, I switched tracks and hit out with the thing that ticked me off the most. "You had absolutely no business asking about things between me and Sam, private things. Vamps might not have any boundaries or sense of decency but I expected better of you. That was a huge violation, Eric."

He shrugged.

I saw red. Pointing my finger, I stepped into his space and punctuated my tirade with jabs to his chest. "And don't think I don't know why you asked that. You're still mad that I didn't want to drop everything and get naked every time you came over. Because I was supposed to be available whenever you wanted. Because I was _yours_. Shepherd of Judea Eric! That attitude went out centuries ago."

His eyes flashed again and he drawled, "Really? And yet you confessed that you never denied the shifter because_ he was your_ _husband_."

I did?

Those damn holes in my memory. Not willing to give an inch, I hit back at once. "I can't be held accountable for whatever the hell nonsense I said while I was higher than a kite."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were particularly lucid, believe me."

Shit. I didn't want to know what else I'd let slip. I snapped, "Oh yeah? You heard what you wanted to hear, buddy. I can't believe you're still hung up on that. But then, you flat out asked for sex often enough. Hell that was all you came over for, all you ever wanted from me."

"No. That is–" He cut off, dragging his hand through his hair.

Good. I went in for the kill, poking his chest again. "That was all it boiled down to, wasn't it? All there was between us. Just sex."

Something shifted and his lip curled. Grabbing my accusatory finger and moving it to the side, he leaned forward into my space, his eyes blazing in their blue depths. I swallowed as his proximity became overwhelming.

He breathed, "Oh, Sookie. With us it was never _just _sex."

He held that position for a second, our lips almost touching and his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say more. Then he dropped my hand like a hot coal and leaned back.

Flustered, I stepped back smartly, my chest heaving far too noisily. Looking down, I smoothed my dress and gathered some dignity, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. Appalled at how easily he'd gotten to me, I muttered sullenly, "I don't get why you even care."

It wasn't like he'd been brooding over me for years; I had no illusions there. Rory was out in the club, and a line was probably forming behind her. It made no sense that with me at his mercy, tongue loosened by alcohol and Lord only knows what, he was overcome with a burning desire to ask a boatload of questions about me and Sam.

When I dared to look up, he was stone-faced again. I frowned. It didn't make sense. "Why _do_ you still care?"

There was a pause long enough that I thought he wasn't going to answer.

"I am a proud man," he admitted quietly.

"You can't be mad that I married Sam. That was what you wanted, wasn't it? To make you feel less guilty. And anyway," I waved my empty ring-finger at him and tried to hide the bitterness that rose up, "it's not like that ended well."

He stared at my hand, pensive. "You said you never loved him. When you were drugged."

If Eric just needed an explanation to get over his wounded pride, I could give him that much. "No. I didn't love him. Not like that. Only as friend."

Picking his words, he said carefully, "Yet you turned to him."

My hackles started to rise. I said warningly, "After you left."

He gave me a level look. "Not so long after."

Now I was positively bristling. "Did you hit your head and forget what happened? I was free to do as I damn well pleased. You divorced me for another woman!"

"Not by choice," he said forcefully. "You never understood that."

"What does that matter? If it hadn't been Freyda, it would have been someone else. I would never have been enough for you, Eric." _Because I didn't come with a throne, _I added snidely in my head.

He snorted. "No, it doesn't matter. Your marriage to Merlotte meant more to you than ours ever did."

"Maybe that's because he didn't trick me into it," I retorted.

"Should I have let de Castro take you then?" he asked hotly.

"Guess you don't have to worry about some higher-up stealing your toys again. Not now you're the head honcho, the big kahuna, the _king_." No wonder he turned me down when I threw myself at him. He was vampire royalty, in charge of a whole damn state of fangers. I was just an office girl. Not even that thanks to that bitch Jody. I chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh boy, I certainly can't compete with that power rush. Freyda thought she could, but even Consort was never going to be enough for you."

He hissed.

That only made me madder. "I'm impressed. You've certainly made quick work climbing that ladder. How does it feel Eric? Everybody bowing and scraping, all that power to do what you want."

"You do not understand."

I sneered and laid into him with a perverse glee. "What? Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown? Give me a break, Eric. I know you. You're a born leader. I bet you love every minute. Ocella had you pegged exactly right. Why wouldn't he? He _made_ you."

His fists clenched. "Ocella had no care for what I wanted."

I kept pushing, wild with rage that had been bottled up too long. "Really? Wasn't power exactly what you wanted? Because I seem to remember you caving in to your lovely maker's plans pretty damn fast in the end."

His whole body tensed and he answered through gritted teeth. "It was inevitable. There was no point fighting it any longer."

I tasted salt water. My throat was drowning with it, but my voice came out strong and bitter. "You mean you gave up. You didn't have a reason to fight, I wasn't enough reason, and you gave up."

He shook his head like a wounded animal trying to dislodge an arrow: "I had no choice!"

Furious with that tired excuse, I yelled, "You said she wouldn't win!"

He flinched.

I barely knew what I was shouting, blinded by rage and tears, nails digging into my palms. "You said she wouldn't win, you promised me and you left!"

With a strangled bellow, he blurred past me. The door handle groaned in his grip and he stopped, his back to me. As if the words were being ripped from his throat, he said hoarsely, "My feelings were never the ones in doubt, Sookie Stackhouse."

Throwing the door open he was gone, leaving a gust of air carrying a lingering echo of his raw voice.

…

My breathing rasped harshly in the still room.

I struggled not to sob, gulping air and blinking rapidly. The desk in front of me went from wavering to sharp-edged as my eyes cleared. My breathing slowly quietened. My anger blown out, I stumbled over to the couch and eased myself down, exhausted and trembling.

That was intense.

So much for giving Eric a clean slate.

I hadn't counted on how furious I still was about that whole mess: angry with Freyda, Ocella and Eric. A tsunami of rage had surged out of me, tearing open scars, washing me clean.

It felt … freeing, cathartic.

I wondered if it had been like that for Eric. He had been very controlled, very Eric at first, but that cold demeanour faltered and his final outburst sounded so…

I sat forward, massaging my temples to ease a tension that threatened to become the mother of all headaches. I tried to think rationally.

Eric _had_ been manipulative and opportunistic. By his own admission. He was completely unrepentant.

Like Niall when I'd challenged him about Sam. Supes did not bend to human notions of fair play and morality. It seemed I needed to relearn that the hard way.

They weren't human. I should keep that front and centre, not get sucked into treating Eric like an ordinary man. He was vampire, first and foremost. Always.

What did I know about vampires? They were notoriously possessive.

Marrying Sam – Lord, I'd even had the temerity to choose a lowly shifter – had seemingly put a sizeable dent in Eric's ego. He really couldn't understand it. Which was ironic, given he'd leapt to the erroneous conclusion that I loved Sam so quickly.

That parting accusation...

Vampires cared for few people in this world, and, as I'd feared at the time, Eric couldn't fathom why I would save Sam's life unless I loved him. Consequently Eric had doubted my feelings for him.

That showed the huge gulf between us. I was human. There were many people I cared about enough to save.

And it showed that Eric didn't trust me.

A relationship needed trust. We'd lost ours along the way, if we'd ever really had it. We were too different to ever understand each other. Neither of us could be what the other needed or wanted. We never had much of a chance.

Clearly we needed this fight – knock-down, bare-knuckle and dirty, painful and raw as it was – to put the past to bed. No, not to bed, that was the wrong phrase. It didn't fit the tightening in my chest or my cold sense of finality.

In the grave.

Yep. That fit.

I should have a headstone carved. Sookie and Eric: _finally dead and buried._

My half-hearted joke fell flat. I'd never felt less like laughing. I leant into my hands heavily, allowing myself to regret and to mourn.

…

Thankfully there was a sink with a mirror in Ariadne's office.

I had just finished repairing my face when Pam walked in. Smiling weakly I sat down on the couch, assuming she wanted to talk, and took a moment to appreciate her elegant cocktail dress, matching shoes and lipstick. All that scarlet contrasted dramatically with her pale hair and icy white skin.

Rory appeared in the doorway. Great. I sat up straighter as she glanced around the room.

"O," she said, frowning slightly. She turned to go.

"Wait," Pam ordered, disappearing inside herself briefly. "He's in no mood for company."

Rory grimaced and asked me, "You fought?"

"Not physically. I'm in one piece," I deadpanned. "But yes, words were exchanged."

She was unhappy about that, giving me a cool stare. I stared right back.

Close up her dress was even more stunning, with lacy long sleeves and a plunging neckline. The motif, delicately embroidered flowers that glittered with tiny gemstones as she moved, repeated over the body and down the skirt, which hugged her hips like a second skin before cascading to the floor. Thick red hair tumbled down her back in sensuous curls, pinned up at the sides to reveal what I reckoned were real emerald earrings. Her necklace dripped with matching stones.

Fairy or not, she had that je-ne-sais-quoi, that undefinable allure of a truly beautiful woman who knows it, but carries it with poise and grace. No wonder Eric wasn't interested in my drunken ass. Rory looked fit for a king.

It wasn't just her dress that was green.

Whatever Rory saw in me displeased her further. Her mouth pursed, she turned away and walked over to the desk, a tasteful split in her dress revealing a flash of toned thigh.

Pam, who'd watched our interaction intently, followed Rory with narrowed eyes.

Irritation bubbled within me. I had a bone to pick with Pam and, remarkably, the fight with Eric hadn't drained my tank of emotions completely dry. Rory wasn't showing any sign of leaving, but I couldn't wait.

"Pam," I said sharply. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Eric was king?"

She shrugged. "I assumed you knew."

"We spoke the night I got home. You didn't say a damn word. I'd only just got back, how would I know already?"

She flicked her eyes towards Rory, as uncomfortable with our witness as I was, but she answered me. "You were so set against Eric having any involvement with your security that I thought the cat was out of the bag." She hesitated. "I knew Bill had beaten me to you."

Colour me surprised. She _was_ keeping tabs on me. My eyes narrowed. "Thalia tell you that, did she?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No. I smelt his scent on your porch. I assumed he rushed over at sunset, eager to spread the good news."

Maybe that had been the idea, before Kennedy arrived. "He was interrupted."

"He came back again the next night, didn't he?"

I bristled. "And as you've been keeping such a close eye on me, you'll know he stayed all of two seconds."

"Bill didn't tell you?"

"No." He had been real eager to take that walk, though. Now I knew why. He knew I had guards; he wanted a private conversation. But Pam, and therefore Eric, knew he'd stopped by. On a hunch I said, "Bill didn't showed up for a while after that. Did Eric order him to stay away?"

Pam smirked. "I deal with Bill. It's better for his health. He travels for his … projects."

"Really," I said drily. I knew how it worked. Eric was his king, Pam was his sheriff. If they said jump, Bill asked how high. "I guess by the time he was _allowed_ back he assumed I knew too."

I hadn't exactly put out the welcome mat and sat around gossiping with him, thinking Bill had another agenda, a personal one that I didn't want to encourage. Well, his king definitely hadn't ordered him to seduce me.

Pam looked pensive. "You must have known, Sookie. I mentioned it at Mark's."

"No. You didn't."

A wrinkle developed on her forehead. "I did. I said I expected Bill's visits, in light of the new situation."

Boy, she'd really been distracted by Mark during that conversation. I said grimly, "Yes, you did. I thought you meant _my_ new situation."

"The divorce."

"Yes, the divorce." I snapped. The divorce I'd rather not mention with Eric's latest squeeze in the room looking fang-droppingly gorgeous.

Pam stiffened. "I should have been clearer."

"Yep. You should have."

Her eyes glittered. Pronouncing every word distinctly she said, "I apologise. I was reluctant to discuss my maker and his ascent to the throne with you. Getting between the two of you is not healthy for our friendship."

That stopped me in my tracks. "Oh." My resentment melted a little. "I guess I get that."

She was still stiff. "No-one else said anything?"

"Nope. Not a thing." I reckoned human, and non-human, nature being what it was everybody had been reluctant to break the news of Eric's 'promotion' to me, only too happy to assume someone else had dished the dirt.

"The shifter? Your brother?"

"No. Sam and I had other things to discuss." Things that led to my newly single status, which I didn't want bring up again. "And Jason's been distracted. Michele just gave birth, and to be honest he's quite tight-lipped about all things supe these days."

"Ah." Pam looked a little sheepish, but I didn't know why. "What about what's-his-name, Bill's dayman? The one married to your friend who's so talented with a shotgun."

I sighed. Vampires and their inability to grasp trivial details like names. "Danny. Nope, didn't say a thing." Or think anything. When he came over to help me with my résumés, he hadn't even thought about Bill. Odd, but I put that aside to think on later.

"Amelia?"

"It didn't come up. We've got better things to talk about than y'all." I had no intention of betraying Amelia's confidence. Pam didn't need to know what was happening with Bob.

Pam mused, "I suppose you don't really move in the right circles to hear vampire gossip. It's hardly something Thalia indulges in."

"No. She sticks to security."

"Yes. She is your guard, not a friend. You know, I didn't realise you frequented nightclubs so often. Blue was unexpected, but here? I'm almost shocked."

I shrugged. "Amelia wanted to come."

No way was Pam as shocked as I was by tonight. Eric had sure sucker-punched me. I hated that, but it seemed no-one had deliberately kept me in the dark. I sighed heavily, and realised I'd better find out how the 'new situation' was going to impact little old me.

"I guess Eric is living down here?"

"Baton Rouge. After Katrina, it seemed sensible."

Good, less chance I'd run into him. "When did this all happen?"

"February, made official in March."

"Okay." The million dollar question. "What does it mean for me?"

"I am in charge of your security. Eric is not directly involved. Nothing changes. Except you are protected in Louisiana for your lifetime, obviously."

"Oh, obviously." I said with an edge. "So that's it? No come running when the king snaps his fingers? No expectation I'm part of his damn retinue?"

"Yes, that is it. Eric has made it clear he has no need of your talents. Any other questions?"

"Nope."

In truth I had plenty: starting with how I'd been so wrong about Eric's ambition to rule, through wondering if he had 'no need' of me because he'd found another telepath, and ending with why the eff Rory was still in the room.

Not that I was going to ask any of those. Not with Rory hanging around like a bad smell.

Not that she did. Smell bad. Even her perfume was lovely – a delicate floral scent. It made me that little bit more irritated with her.

Pam nodded. "Good. I need to –"

She broke off and turned to the open door as Ariadne's large figure filled it. She was light-footed for a big gal; I hadn't heard her coming.

"ETA fifteen minutes," she said abruptly and disappeared.

Turning back to me Pam said briskly, "I have work to do. Diantha is on point tonight. Thalia is somewhere close. Contact them if you need anything."

She left the room, the clack of her heels receding rapidly. I stood and brushed down my dress, preparing mentally for an unpleasant conversation with Quinn. I glanced over at Rory, and wished I hadn't.

She was perched on the corner of the desk, looking at a framed photo. Even the way she sat was elegant. Some supes got all the breaks, what chance did us mere mortal women have? I scowled at her, and she looked up before I could hide my expression.

Shit, busted.

Her green eyes were cool and her smile was a threat. "I was just contemplating the nature of love."

Huh?

My face must have said that loud and clear, because she turned the photo around to show me Ariadne and Malcolm, relaxed and smiling at each other. "They look happy, don't they?"

I shrugged, not liking where this was heading. How rude would it be to start edging towards the door?

She looked down at the photo, touching it lightly with her fingertips. "There is love there. A rare and precious thing." She looked up straight into my eyes. "'_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy._' Isn't that what your Bible says?"

Recognising the quote, I gave her a cautious, "Something like that."

The green of her eyes darkened and the challenge in her voice belied her smile. "Jealousy may be a symptom, but by itself it is not love, Sookie Stackhouse. Do not mistake the two."

Uh-huh. I got her message loud and clear. Hell, I'd seen Arlene give the 'back off my man' message to other women in sickly honeyed tones enough times to decode it in my sleep. _Don't read anything significant into Eric's jealousy, _it said under Rory's fake smile. I reckoned the Eric and Quinn show earlier had her feeling threatened.

I slapped on my own polite smile and replied sweetly, "Bless your heart. Don't you worry none about me. I know how to recognise love just fine."

She tilted her head, those damn earrings catching the light, and said mockingly: "You do? You _have_ been blessed. And so young, too."

"Young?" I asked, wanting to glare, but holding my smile. She didn't look thirty, but certain supes never suffered grey hairs or wrinkles. "You're older than you look then."

She hopped off the desk with a lithe movement. "Yes, I am. Perhaps you can benefit from the wisdom of my centuries. You cannot truly love someone until you accept all that they are."

"Uh-huh." If she could accept Mr High-and-Mighty and the throne that would always be his first priority, good luck to her.

She watched me intently and I let my smile fade to a dead-eyed stare. The tension ratcheted higher, neither of us backing down.

She said softly, "I don't think you know what love is at all, selfish child."

She had some gall. I wasn't naive or a child. I snapped, "Fuck you. You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" she said, stepping closer with feline grace. The air crackled, I smelt ozone and her eyes darkened even further. "What did you ever give up for someone you loved? Not a lot, I think. Eric was forced into a marriage he didn't want, torn away from his place and his family. You did nothing to stop that."

I was amazed she thought I could have done anything. "What the heck was I supposed to do? I couldn't let Sam die. The wish was gone."

"You weren't going to use it on Eric anyway," she said sharply.

"Eric said he'd find a way out of it."

A flicker of a knowing smile played on her lips. "Of course he did. But what did you do to help him?"

Did she think I had a supe army on speed dial? "There was nothing I could do!"

"Did you ask Desmond Cataliades for help? Or Brigant himself? Or any of the vampires who owed you their lives from Rhodes? The packs you have ties to, your witch friend? Did you negotiate with de Castro, offer your gift? No, you didn't. After everything he did for you, you did nothing. You let him go, Sookie Stackhouse."

"I helped get rid of Victor! I saved Eric's ass from a murder charge! I was sick and tired of all that vampire bullshit. It was never going to end. How much of myself was I meant to give up?"

"How much was he?" she hissed. She shook her head. "I'm wasting my breath. You're as stubborn as Fintan ever was." She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, but stopped, turning back.

Face serious and eyes pitying, she said, "Love is measured by what you sacrifice, Sookie Stackhouse, not what you gain. Real love gives you the courage to sacrifice everything. Perhaps, like I did, you will only truly understand that when you become a mother."

I spluttered, too angry to spit out a reply. She was gone long before the cuss words tangled in my throat broke loose. Bitter envy swamped me as I caught up to her last words. On top of everything else, she'd succeeded where I'd failed. She was a mother.

That was it.

Stick a fork in me. I was done.

I slammed the office door closed on the way out and marched up the corridor. Diantha was waiting by the door into the club. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.

"Where did that bitch Rory go?" I demanded, barely slowing.

"Outsidethataway," she said in one breath, gesturing past a set of stairs to an external door.

"Good."

I shouldered the door to the club open, breezed through it and headed straight for the bar. I needed a drink.


	11. Duty

**A/N:** Thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows. There may or may not be a chapter next week depending on how many visitors I have, so I'll wish you all happy holidays now.

Briefly to a few guest reviewers:

1. Good points about Sam versus Eric and marriage. Sookie has reasons, doesn't she?

2. No offence taken at all. I'm not meaning to bash Sookie. She didn't shout across the whole club. She's not acting on every lusty impulse she has. I don't see her behaviour as stupid, I see her as passionate. Those damn pesky emotions get in her way sometimes.

3. Rory is definitely Eric's friend, and what she senses from Sookie... Well, it's probably confusing.

Right, here we go. Stars indicate footnotes as the site doesn't support superscript. Grr.

And Eric is a little upset. There will be cussing.

* * *

><p><strong>Duty<strong>

* * *

><p>I blurred passed Diantha and burst out of the back entrance of the club, seeking solitude.<p>

The private parking area was deserted. Thank fuck. I paced the gravel, agitated and barely aware of my surroundings. Sookie's glistening blue eyes filled my vision and her harsh recriminations echoed in my ears.

_You said she wouldn't win… You left… You gave up._

She spoke as if I had abandoned her. In spite of her begging me to let her go, in spite of her eagerness to turn to the shifter already hovering in the wings…

She felt I had broken my word and betrayed her.

I could still smell her tears. Tears that welled in those blue eyes because of me. Because I hurt her.

Because I let her down.

Worse, there was nothing I could do to make it right, to undo it.

Ocella.

Fucking Ocella.

A fierce hatred lanced through me and I turned violently on my heel, scattering a spray of gravel against a nearby car. The chink of expensive paint chipping pulled me out of my spiralling rage and I ground to a halt, vibrating with anger, fangs down and fists clenched.

I turned slowly, taking stock.

A half-dozen cars, with VIP owners who would be pissed if I crushed their vehicles. A handful of weedy decorative trees, too flimsy to satisfy. The blank walls of the surrounding buildings, rising up around me like a prison.

Fuck.

Nothing to hit, rend or destroy.

I stared up at the open sky with longing before throwing myself bad-temperedly against the side of my car, a VW Jetta. The panel crumpled and the whole car rocked, setting off the fucking alarm. The wail lasted the microsecond it took me to yank the door open and silence it with my fist. Seriously tempted to rip the door off too, I settled for slamming it. Hard.

Fucking car. I hated the fucking thing. Inconspicuous, my dead ass. Fucking tasteless piece of shit.

I slumped against it, furious with myself, not the damn car.

Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut around her?

I barely had the presence of mind to say 'my feelings _were'. _Not _are_. As in my feelings _are_ tearing me a-fucking-part. I growled, tugging my hair back roughly.

What the hell was Sookie doing here?

She had blind-sided me. Literally. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she might visit Sanctum. Focused on my agenda for the night, I hadn't even noticed her a scant few feet away.

Seeing her again after I vowed to stay away from her was a cruel twist indeed.

I almost kept walking when she called after me. Then she made that 'interrogation' dig and I felt … remorse. When I agreed to talk, I planned to stay calm and leave Sookie in no doubt I was a manipulative high-handed bastard. Again. It was over. If she held me in contempt so much the better for me.

That was my spur-of-the-moment plan.

It was a shitty one. Calm? While she was hurling accusations left and right? Not fucking likely. I warred with myself, struggling not to reply, not to react. Not to reveal anything.

Like how much her nearness affected me.

I hadn't kissed her, but my mouth had hardly co-operated otherwise, letting loose far more than I wanted. When she accused _me_ of only wanting _her_ for sex, I was livid. Thank fuck I realised how ridiculous my angry retort would sound and shut the hell up, saving myself that small scrap of dignity.

To admit out loud that the only time she dropped her guard, the only time she truly let me in was after we'd… That during that dark time I needed every minute with her, needed to feel … That I didn't know how else to ask for the comfort I…

Fuck. I didn't even want to express that to myself.

I rubbed at my face roughly.

Enough. Enough allowing this insane vulnerability. I was done with this. I tipped my head back against the car and stared up at the stars. Emptying my mind, I focused on their cold unreachable beauty.

…

"Pam."

She blurred over from the door, where she'd been hovering in the shadows and said, "You should be inside."

"You didn't tell her."

She shrugged. "She didn't ask. Bill got to her first. I presumed she knew."

Reasonable. "Why did she think I'd taken Indiana?"

"She asked me where you were."

I raised an eyebrow. "She got back while I was with Bartlett?"

Pam nodded.

"I see." Pam hadn't mentioned it until two weeks later. Normally I'd be pissed, but I told her not to involve me with Sookie's protection unless it was absolutely essential and I was busy at the time. These nights I was always busy.

She side-eyed the dented car. "There will be others here."

As if I didn't know that. As if I couldn't be trusted to be on display. I needed a few minutes peace, not Pam's insolence. I said as calmly as I could, "Go check the club."

Giving me a sharp look, she walked away. As she got to the door Rory came out of it. Listening to their exchange made me want to hit something again.

"I see why you didn't tell her," Rory began. "She would have shot the messenger."

"Sookie doesn't react well to surprise," Pam said stiffly. "She's young, she overreacts."

"Pfft. She's headstrong and rude. But I see why you like her. She has spirit. Is he fit for company?"

Pam glanced back at me. "Don't piss him off. He has work to do." She slipped inside.

Rory's approach spurred me to lock down my emotions as best I could. She stopped when she saw the dent in my car.

"You really hate that thing," she said, eyeing me warily.

Her tense smile irritated me and I was in no mood to be subtle. "What do you want? Spit it out."

She came closer, bracing herself. "I owe you an apology. Sookie is here because of me. I asked Ariadne to send Amelia Broadway three invitations for tonight."

"Knowing I'd be here," I said grimly.

"Yes." She stood taller and looked me in the eye. "I knew Sookie was visiting the witch this weekend. I overheard Thalia mentioning it to Pam."

Fuck me. "Deliberately overheard."

"Eavesdropping is a terrible habit," she said without a trace of guilt.

"So is meddling," I said acidly. "I see you have a ringside seat."

She winced under my glare. "I really am sorry, Eric. I assumed the witch would bring her husband, not Quinn. Levi says the tiger is here as her guest."

"The witch does not like me. You know this."

She flinched, but inched closer. "I thought you'd be pleased to see Sookie. I knew you wouldn't have an opportunity to run into her otherwise."

"Wrong on both counts."

Her eyes widened. "Oh." She leant on the car next to me so we were side by side and asked quietly, "That interrogation she mentioned?"

My turn to wince. "It was … an interesting evening. Pam didn't tell you?" I was honestly amazed she hadn't, but grateful not to have endured the teasing in stereo. One of them was enough.

"No. Did it go better than tonight?"

"There was less shouting." I hesitated. Pam would tell her anyway. "She ... offered herself to me." Rory gasped and I clarified, "Only for a night. She was intoxicated."

"Are you–" I hissed at the sympathy on her face, and she dropped the hand she was about to put on my arm and grimaced. "No wonder things went badly tonight. Nothing stings a woman's pride like a man refusing to bed her."

If only that was all it was. She didn't know the half of it. "Perhaps this will teach you not to meddle without the facts."

She smirked a little. "I'm allowed to meddle with the facts?"

I groaned. I was off my game, leaving that open. "No. Definitely not."

She gave me a small smile and slid sideways along the car until our arms touched. "What did you ask her during this interrogation?"

"I'm needed inside."

She raised an eyebrow and gave me a cut-the-shit look.

I stared coldly back but she held the eye contact.

"Stubborn vampire."

"Infuriating fairy."

"Fine." She shrugged. "You can tell me later."

I growled at her.

She grinned suddenly. "I can always ask Pam."

I closed my eyes and shook my head, feeling a flicker of amusement despite myself. "Spare me that, please."

I felt a light touch on the back of my hand. When I opened my eyes, her face was soft.

"You're unsettled, Eric. May I?"

The quarrel with Sookie had rattled me. I considered briefly and relented, turning my hand to take hers. She interlaced our fingers and her magic washed into me. She didn't let go until we were back in the club.

I needed her soothing. It was a trying night.

…

Ariadne showed me to the booth. I took the centre, speaking idly with Pam until Thrash and his wife joined me. We were both here to mediate the meeting, but Thrash wanted a word about politics first. The human kind, the kind that involved a donation.

Who better to ask than me? My coffers must be overflowing, judging by the numerous requests for funds I was sick of receiving. However Thrash's suggestion had some merit. It would be good publicity. And focusing on our conversation kept my attention off the bar.

Acute hearing was sometimes a curse. Sookie's voice was far too easy to pick out.

Salome* and Neb arrived. The two vampires were well-matched: both short, graceful and dark-skinned. They shared a taste for silk too: Salome was wrapped in chocolate brown silk embroidered with pink flowers. Neb wore a dark grey silk shirt and black dress pants. They nodded deeply to me.

I inclined my head. "Sheriff. Salome."

They slid into the booth to my right, Salome next to me, leaving the space next to the Thrashes for the packmasters.

Salome was slightly younger than me, but Neb was much older. Making him sheriff was a calculated risk. I hardly knew him, but Salome did. He was one of backers behind the Seven Veils. Having shunning the hierarchy for a century, Neb was reluctant to take on Area 3. Perversely that encouraged me to appoint him. That and Oskar thought him reliable, having known him centuries ago in the Old World.

I introduced Thrash. Neb watched me closely, his expressive brown eyes guarded. We were still fencing, feeling each other out. He was proving an excellent administrator and that was enough for now. I hadn't regretted my choice yet.

Ariadne brought those of us with fangs some of Sanctum's blood cocktails, synthetic laced with rare human types. Ethically sourced, she assured the Thrashes with a twinkle in her eye.

"Got any Long Island flavoured with Tea Party supporters?" Thrash deadpanned, raising a smile from Neb.

"David! That's in very poor taste," Thrash's wife scolded him playfully.

"I love a woman who wears the pants," Salome purred, smouldering at the female wolf.

"Oh honey, I don't go for submissives," Genevieve shot back, catching Salome by surprise. Thrash laughed.

Neb and I chuckled quietly. It was rare to see Salome wrong-footed in a game of flirting. I was sorry to see the politician's quick-witted wife leave when the packmasters arrived.

Clay Pellissier was black, barrel-chested and remarkably even-tempered for a wolf. His second, his nephew, was not. Hot-headed and not a fan of the fanged, he had already taken a dislike to Oskar, which was why I was taking Oskar's place tonight. And I provided a familiar face; Neb was unknown to the local packs.

The other packmaster, Mattias Laroche, was a scrawny, dark-haired Cajun. His second was a stocky woman. Mattias seemed neutral towards vampires, but Oskar advised me to tread cautiously with him. He was younger, lacking Clay's experience and restraint.

Clay's pack had been stronger of the two, but Swiftfoot ran out east of the city, in the wetlands towards Slidell. Katrina hit them hard. Laroche's pack ran out of Marrero, in the swamps south of the river where she'd been kinder. Lune de Sang, Blood Moon, were in the ascendant, their strength rising.

Neb wanted both packs on side.

Once the wolves were seated and supplied with beer, Malcolm traced the inlay on the table and chanted some Latin. The hum of other conversations faded, much to my relief.

"You have privacy, ladies and gents. Your majesty," Malcolm said, bowing before he left.

Neb explained his proposal: an openly supernatural tour company, daylight tours of New Orleans for families, night tours for the more adventurous. It was exactly the sort of joint shapeshifter and vampire enterprise I wanted to see. Neb already operated a swamp tour in Area 3 with the Lake Charles packs. He envisioned similar collaboration in Nola, but didn't have time to be directly involved. His idea was a good one and Salome had the experience to make it work.

On cue, Salome took up the baton. With extensive experience in the casino industry, she was perfect to run the vampire end of the tour. And Seven Veils had reputation for dealing fairly with its two-natured employees.

Clay spoke up first when she finished her pitch. "So you ain't looking for muscle. You want showmanship?"

She nodded. "Yes, exactly."

Clay's nephew snorted. "Want us turning tricks like circus animals."

Salome gave him a cool stare. "Performance is an art. Humans will pay handsomely to be entertained."

He folded his arms. "Yeah, and you'll cream off the profits."

"No," Neb said. "We're looking for investors. Put in the dollars; share the rewards."

The cub was not impressed, but Clay was chewing the idea over, watching Mattias to see which way he jumped. Mattias rubbed his chin and leaned forward. "Same return you get?"

"Yes," Salome said, Neb nodding to confirm it.

"Sounds good, Mattias," his second, Beth, encouraged. "Seven Veils pays great. My cousin works there."

Clay's nephew muttered, "Whole damn family loves deaders."

"Get over yourself, Ty," Beth said sharply.

"Me? I'm not the one too good for my own kind."

"What can I say? Chester was better in the sack than you."

The cub sneered. "Your husband know 'bout your taste for fangers, Beth?"

"Theo ain't threatened. He's a real man. Knows how to keep it in his pants, too. I guess you never learnt that lesson."

Clay gave his nephew a sharp look, but the idiot washing his dirty laundry in front of us was too busy snarling at Beth to notice. Clay grabbed his arm and growled, "Settle down, Tyrone."

Thrash cleared his throat. "Let's get back to business. What sort of investment are you looking for Neb?"

Negotiations began in earnest. All they required of me was an assurance of support, so I let the haggling over percentages wash over me, ignoring the faint teasing sounds from the bar.

Mattias was definitely hooked. Beth even named a few pack members involved in community theatre who would be interested. Tyrone glowered, sullen and disapproving. Clay didn't want to miss out, but I knew he didn't have the capital. I mentioned a foundation that gave out small business loans.

Thrash took the hint and elaborated on ways Clay could get financial help. Clay stiffened at the politician's advice – there was long-standing rivalry between Swiftfoot and Alpha One, the well-to-do Metairie pack Thrash ran with – but Clay grudgingly took down some details. If he swallowed his pride his pack would benefit.

Negotiations over, I traced the inlay on the table to unlock the ward. The sounds of the club washed over us at full volume, just as Sookie's laughter floated over from the bar.

Regrettably, I couldn't leave. Not yet.

I chose this venue partly as it was acceptable to all parties, partly so I could see and be seen. Every move I made was being scrutinised by watchful eyes. Two groups of vampires had arrived, and there was a known spy for de Castro amongst them.

They _were_ all drinking Sanctum's expensive blood cocktails though, so at least my coffers were filling.

That was the other reason I picked the club: to check on my investment. Malcolm, Ariadne and Levi were determined to market Sanctum as neutral ground, hence my part-ownership was secret. Other species, the fae especially, would not find it comforting that I had a share in the place, even if I had given my subjects an edict not to cause trouble here on pain of silvering or worse.

Malcolm and Ariadne's wards would eject anyone who broke the rules anyway. No-one had been stupid enough to test them yet, but Levi assured me anyone who did was in for an unpleasant experience.

Rory – the fifth partner – had been confident that more adventurous fae would come for walk on the wild side, despite the vampire presence. A few bold souls were in attendance tonight, wearing the ingenious scent-dampening charms Malcolm had created to ensure they were reasonably safe mingling with us.

I caught Rory's eye across the room and she smiled. She was sitting with two dark-haired males and a blonde female. Her companions looked relaxed, but looks were deceiving with the fae and they were keeping to the other side of the club.

Malcolm arrived at our table with another round of drinks and the conversation turned to neutral topics. Beth and Clay bantered over sports teams with an air of friendly rivalry. Tyrone scowled into his beer. Salome and Mattias argued the merits of various sports cars, Neb listening quietly. Thrash and I compared notes on the BSA's latest batch of bureaucrats.*

It wasn't enough to hold my attention. Each warm laugh Sookie shared with the tiger stung a little more.

When the band played the first notes of zydeco, Beth asked teasingly if Clay's ancient bones were up to cutting a rug. The older wolf grinned broadly at her and they took to the floor with a handful of couples.

Including Sookie and Quinn.

Curious looks and a ripple of whispers from my _loyal_ subjects made me regret one of my first actions as king: sending out Sookie's description with my decree of protection so none of them could claim ignorance of her identity.

That had definitely come back to bite me on the ass.

I'd almost attached an addendum saying no-one could think badly of her, in honour of a playful conversation we once had. I should have added a no-gossip clause instead.

Salome noticed what was attracting all the attention and said casually, "Your ex-wife dances well."

To my left, Thrash pricked up his ears. Fuck. Salome loved gossip, the more malicious the better. I needed to play it cool, steer the conversation to safer ground.

Sookie was dancing enthusiastically, flushed and smiling up at the tiger. I forced myself to watch disinterestedly, and said blandly, "Yes, she moves well."

Salome's eyes flashed with intrigue. "A good dancer, a good fuck, isn't that what they say?"

"Dancers might say that," I said carelessly, not looking at her.

"Oh, my liege, call a spade a spade. I wasn't a dancer, I was a whore."

Mattias choked on his beer.

She gave him a wicked smile. "A profession that meant neither husband nor father owned me. I commanded a high price for my," she paused to lick her lips, "talents."

Mattias gaped at her, stunned. Salome gave him a very predatory smile. Tyrone muttered some unintelligible Cajun that sounded distinctly derogatory.

Eyeing him coldly Neb said, "Whoring was a valued profession in my time."

Tyrone looked away, his disgust poorly hidden.

"Oh yes," Salome drawled, giving me an appreciative glance. "Especially valued by warriors. They were always my favourite, most enthusiastic clients."

Neb eyes lit with amusement. "They who deal death have a taste for pleasure. A taste you share."

I said, with a warning look right at Salome, "Or perhaps she shares their taste for danger."

Salome dipped her head briefly, accepting the mild chastisement for her blunt comment earlier. She raised her glass and toasted me, grinning, "Whores and warriors. Good together like blood and sex."

I chinked my glass against hers and took a sip with a smile showing a hint of fang to reinforce my point.

Thrash shifted uneasily besides me, drawing my attention. He was watching Tyrone, who was scowling at Beth as she danced with his uncle. Mattias saw it too and asked Ty how his wife and children were. Not the most tactful question given Beth's earlier comment about his straying, but it shook the angry wolf's focus from the dance floor.

Salome set her sights on Mattias, asking him to dance just to see him squirm. The wolf rose gamely to her challenge, joking that business partners that danced together made money together.

The zydeco music faded.

Quinn and Sookie stayed on the floor, but Clay had had enough. Beth's teasing about his creaking joints, and the shuffling as they resettled into the booth and Mattias and Salome left, provided a welcome distraction as next dance began.

A waltz.

How fitting.

The dance we shared at Rhodes.

The strength of my reaction surprised me, a ball of loss settling heavily in my gut. I shifted position, clenching a fist under the table and taking care to blank my face. I kept my eyes on Salome, following her and Mattias. As they passed Rory's table, our eyes met and Rory raised her glass to me. I nodded back, unsmiling. Damn her interference.

The waltz brought Quinn and Sookie past our table. I couldn't look away without being obvious, couldn't avoiding seeing his hand stroking the small of her back.

Neb stiffened beside me. He waited until Clay was regaling the wolves with a story about Beth's wild youth and said quietly, "That is the tiger that betrayed Sophie Ann to Nevada?"

Ah. "Yes. Quinn, the pit fighter."

He took a sip of his blood, flicking his eyes to the wolves who were embroiled in their own conversation. He said carefully, "You are magnanimous to allow him into your state."

I shrugged, and answered quietly. "Nevada lost control of the tiger's leash. Quinn is a free agent." Technically. Bartlett told me who held that particular leash now. It hadn't been tugged yet, so I doubted Quinn was aware of it.

"Free agents can be bought," Neb said. "Forgive my directness, Eric. It is many decades since I have been exposed to the cut and thrust of our politics. I am uneasy."

I nodded, understanding his caution only too well. "The tiger is not in a position to do us harm. He is here for a pack issue." Oskar was building bridges with the local packs, and judged it safe to admit the tiger. No vampire in Louisiana was likely to trust him after what had happened to Sophie Ann. We had long memories.

Neb sipped his drink, watching Quinn with an expression of distaste. "My people killed those who betrayed a queen."

"Alas, we must move with the times," I said drily.

He glanced across the table to the wolves, catching Beth's eye. "Yes. And not all shape-changers are disloyal."

"Not all of us are Tiger fans either," she said, winking at him. The male wolves were too engrossed in their discussion to notice her comment.

I chuckled. "I think you made a friend, Neb."

He nodded to her. "Yes. I foresee a profitable alliance with this one."

Beth grinned back, raising her beer. "Here's to that."

I glanced over the booths. Several heads turned away as I did, but I caught two younger vampires looking between Quinn and me with anticipation. I suppressed a hiss of annoyance.

One of them was recently turned. He seemed especially contemptuous of Quinn. Dark, hairy… I knew him. Ah, yes. Herve, Cleo's human. He was with her at Rhodes, when she pulled that arrow out of Quinn's shoulder. He had reason to be aggrieved: the tiger's subsequent betrayal led to Cleo's death. Herve saw I was watching him, stiffened and looked away. Good. He better not do anything stupid here. It would be a pity to end one so young.

As the waltz finished, Salome's flirtatious laugh carried across the room. I glanced over and smirked. Mattias was blushing. Unfortunately, they were standing close to the tiger and I couldn't miss Quinn pulling Sookie into an embrace. He sneered at me over her head.

I supposed I deserved that. There was only one way to respond.

Conscious of the eyes on me, I raised my drink and smirked broadly, as if to say she's all yours. His expression faltered. He looked down as Sookie pulled away from him. She thanked him for the dance with warmth in her voice.

Fortunately the band took a break and the two of them disappeared towards the bar.

Salome came back draped over Mattias, teasing him and complaining that waltzes were far too stuffy for her. Not long after that, the wolves made their excuses. I was moderately pleased. The meeting had gone well, and the relaxed hour of socialising afterwards was more than I'd hoped for. Oskar had been over-cautious about the local packs and their tolerance of us. He always was a pessimist.

Once our furry friends had gone my subjects demanded their share of my time.

I beckoned the younger group, including Herve, over first. The oldest was barely half a century. She made an unsubtle and falsely sympathetic remark about the tiger and my ex-wife – fuck, I hated that term – but wisely didn't push the issue when I shrugged it off.

Another, Herve's friend, made maximum use of the opportunity to waste my time, launching into a hare-brained real estate scheme. Fixing him with a steely glare, I dismissed them all with a flick of my hand. He had the grace not to mutter his discontent until they were back in their seats.

Reluctantly, I waved the older trio over. The youngest, an attractive slender male, was de Castro's spy 'Eddie', doubtless a false name. Milena, a sturdy blonde with Slavic features, had arrived from Russia after she heard Oskar had taken control of New Orleans. They had history. Becker, sandy-haired and boyish, had resided here since before Katrina. Always on the lookout for a way to feed his avarice, he struck up a conversation with Salome about Sanctum. He called it the club of the future, excited by the profits to be made. Pity. He'd missed that boat.

Older vampires were more patient. It was a whole ten minutes before they brought up the gossip dripping down everyone's fangs.

Milena started it, rather bluntly. "I haven't hunted tiger. Is it more challenging than bear?"

Neb said sharply, "We don't hunt the shape-changers here."

Milena looked to me. "If the tiger offends my king, it would be my pleasure to remove his head."

"There is no offence," I said. "And I remind you we are keeping peace with the shapeshifters."

Milena's pale eyes expressed confusion. "He was disrespectful to you."

This was the fucking problem with being king. Nothing was personal. Insolence to me was insolence to the throne, and new kings needed to suppress that ruthlessly. Other states were watching, their dogs snapping at my heels, waiting to see if my grip on Louisiana faltered. It was important to inspire confidence in my subjects.

"Yes. I would be offended if it was my wife," Becker put in.

Salome derided him. "It would be a miracle if you had a wife, you old queen. Such a miser. You wouldn't even spare a ring's worth of gold for a man."

Unruffled Becker insisted, "My point stands. If the tiger insulted me in such a way, he would leave with his tail between his legs."

"She hasn't been mine for years," I said casually, hoping to brush it off. "And the tiger has a habit of tripping over his own tail." One could hope.

"Of course. You traded up for Freyda," Becker conceded. He waited a beat for them all to recall how well that went. "But Freyda is gone. You could reclaim the blonde; a telepath is a valuable asset."

Milena's eyes widened, and she murmured, "Valuable indeed."

She hadn't known what Sookie was. Neb and Salome exchanged a glance, but I ignored them.

"She is under my protection," I said firmly, letting the power roll off me to reinforce the warning.

"Yes. We all remember your majesty's decree," Neb said. He looked first Becker, then Milena in the eye, his influence bearing down on them. His support was unexpected, and very welcome.

"Her talents could be used for the kingdom without harming her," Milena pointed out, unbowed.

I bit back a growl. I couldn't explain why I was allowing Sookie her freedom. Not unless I dropped Brigant's name, which required his consent and wasn't a good idea.

Instead I said calmly, "I owe her a debt from Rhodes, as do many others. And I have no need of her skills at present."

"As you wish," Milena conceded, but Becker frowned and opened his mouth to protest.

Fuck. Before I could think of a way to reinforce my reputation that didn't involve ripping off Becker's head, a movement caught my eye. Rory was crossing the empty dance floor. She came to a halt six feet in front of our table, smiling, her eyes fixed on mine.

"Care to dance, your majesty?"

Neb's eyes widened comically as the enticing scent of female fae wafted over us. Salome licked her plump lips, fangs peeking between them. Becker was openly gaping.

Rory was not wearing one of Malcolm's charms, and that wasn't her scent. Not that the rest of the table knew that. I coughed pointedly. Neb and Salome blinked at me, and moved to let me out of the booth.

I followed Rory as the band picked up their instruments and played a few stray notes. Once we were in the middle of the floor, I whispered low enough that only she would hear, "The scent is your blonde friend?"

"Yes," she whispered back. "Can you stand it?"

I nodded.

"Good." She cast whatever illusion fae used to change their appearance, and her features became breathtakingly ethereal. Eyeing my mouth, which was still fang-free, she leaned closer and breathed, "Your subjects doubt you."

I sent her a wave of frustration in reply.

"Let's change that. You tango?"

Oh, that would be perfect. I grinned. "When needs must."

She signalled the band. They started a bold rhythm, and she walked away from me with a matching sway to her hips, her dress swinging against her calves. I flicked my jacket open, admiring the view.

She turned around, beckoning me. I stalked towards her, until she put her hand on my chest. We circled each other, my eyes never leaving hers.

We stepped apart. I slipped my jacket off and tossed it aside carelessly.

She glided back to me and we danced a few steps together. She pulled away but I caught her outstretched hand at the last second, spinning her back and sliding my arm around her waist to slam her against me. She hooked her leg around mine, the slit of her skirt falling open, and she arched backwards, her hair cascading to the floor.

She lifted up effortlessly and I let her go. She was a fantastic dancer. I was beginning to enjoy myself.

This time I stalked away, just to see what she would do. She followed and pressed against my back, sliding her hands sensually around my shoulders and her bare leg up my side. As I turned to face her, she let go and backed rapidly away towards the band. I chased her, and she slid graceful to one knee, bowing her head. I pulled her to her feet and against me.

"How's my audience now?" I whispered into her ear under cover of the music.

"Green with envy."

Perfect. I glanced towards her fae friends as we turned. A pair of stormy brown eyes met mine.

Ah. Oops.

"Your date is ready to stake me," I breathed as I lifted her off the floor against my hip, and she kicked her legs.

"Date?" she whispered, sliding down my side and finding her feet without hesitation.

"Dark hair, brown eyes, pissed."

"Not my date." She was amused.

I assumed she wasn't attached to him and gave her a smouldering look. She gave as good back and turned away.

I pressed against her back, and she guided us across the floor towards the asshole. I let her lean towards him and pulled her away at the last second, taunting him. She turned to face me, grinning impishly as she wrapped her leg high around my hip. I slid my hand provocatively along her bare thigh just as she whispered directly into my ear.

"That's my son."

Astonished, I froze, abruptly conscious of her naked flesh under my hand. I recovered in time to tighten my grip as she threw herself backwards again, arching towards the floor. Her son was seething, glaring down at her.

Not easy to watch your mother dance like this…

When she flicked back up I took us back to the centre of the floor, but she whispered sharply, "Don't you dare hold back on his account."

She asked for it. Time for a big finish.

As the music crescendoed, I pulled her leg tight around me and used it to lift her off the floor. I dropped fang very obviously and dipped her as we spun. Rory didn't disappoint, arching her neck back with no hesitation. I lunged, pressing my mouth against her jugular, fangs retracting, just as the music ended.

Perfect timing.

The sudden silence was broken by a raucous whistle, followed by thunderous applause. A crowd of spectators had gathered along the glass mural overlooking the dance floor.

I set Rory on her feet and winked at her, sending her a swell of gratitude. Smiling, she kissed me on the corner of my mouth. I stepped back, taking her hand, and bowed to the crowd as she curtseyed.

I said quietly, "Better calm your offspring down; he's frothing at the mouth."

"Pfft. I'm long past mollycoddling him. He's almost two hundred. Time he accepted I have a life."

I laughed. "Good luck with that."

She squeezed my hand and let go. I watched her sashay back to her table, shaking my head. He was in for a tough night. Pam was waiting by the booth. She handed me my jacket and licked her lips. "You smell delicious."

Grinning smugly, I slipped the jacket on and adjusted my cuffs, revelling in the jealousy my audience was trying so desperately to hide.

"I see why the telepath is yesterday's news," Salome said. "The healer _dances_ very well."

Milena stated the obvious. "She's fae. Half at least."

Becker added nonchalantly, "Higher status than a human telepath. And dripping with jewels. Those emeralds are flawless."

Greedy as ever, that one.

Watching me closely, Neb murmured, "A more talented asset too?"

"Perhaps." I was non-committal, but Rory had certainly proved herself on that front.

Eddie spoke up, with false concern. "She doesn't have a protection decree."

I raised an eyebrow.

De Castro would be a fool to try anything. Rory wasn't fragile and attacking her would only gain him more enemies. For a start, the treaties with the fae were active again now the portals had reopened. And she had Bartlett and Russell's respect already. As a healer willing to work on vampire, she was worth her weight in gold. De Castro would be vilified if he spoilt that.

"Miss Kingfisher hardly needs protecting," I said. "She's not human. Gentlemen, ladies. It's time I left."

They nodded respectfully. Good, my reputation was somewhat restored. I stopped for a brief word with Ariadne about the club, and then went out the back. Pam followed me.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "Neb had a point about Rory. She _is_ a talented asset. And she knows how to behave." Fingers of her curiosity poked at me. Pam was _dying_ to know what was going on between me and the healer.

So was I.

I ignored Pam's fishing, and threw my car keys at her. She caught them and scowled. "Is his highness above being seen in that piece of shit?"

"Exactly. Drive it to Oskar's. I'll meet you there."

"Fuck a zombie," she muttered as I leapt into the sky.

…..

I landed on a deserted rooftop halfway to Oskar's. Distracted, the comments about Rory rattling around my head, I paced the roof.

Rory had put her talents to use for me willingly, more than once. She understood how to play to an audience, how to play politics. She held some power over me – having thanked her, I carried her mark – but amazingly I trusted her not to abuse it.

I liked her. Sorcha wasn't a doormat. She was sassy, and challenging, and … she cared for me. Truly cared.

At first I thought that was some reverse saviour-fixation, that she over-identified with me after she experienced my torture second-hand. But as time went on, I realised there was more to it.

Not love, she wasn't in love with me.

At least I hoped not, that would fucking complicate things.

But … something.

She couldn't or wouldn't feed me her blood, but she did make more sense than Sookie. On paper. But Freyda looked good on paper and I wanted to rip her fangs out most nights in Oklahoma.

If only it was that simple.

That tango with Sorcha was just an act. An enjoyable act, but it didn't stir my blood. Or anything else.

No-one made me feel like Sookie did.

Sookie. Our fight.

I leaned against an air vent and swore softly. Not all those feelings were good.

Sorcha's meddling was fucking annoying, but all she did was pass on some invitations. I smirked. And she had bent over backwards, literally during that tango, to make up for her fuck-up.

My smirk faded.

It wasn't Sorcha's fuck-up. Things had fucked up between me and Sookie long ago.

Misunderstandings, the lack of trust on both our parts, our differences… Victor's death. Ocella. A whole slew of problems, in fact. Even if Sookie's feelings for me had been stronger, deeper… She wanted things I couldn't give. It was fucked beyond repair.

And it was a distraction I could ill afford when I had a whole state depending on me. I would let it die. The past was just that: past.

I shook myself. Time to deal with the present. Checking the streets were deserted, I took to the sky.

…

Landing on the roof of Sophie Ann's old headquarters, I waved the guards away and went down the stairs without any fanfare. Eventually they'd get used to my unannounced arrivals. I strode down the quiet corridors to Oskar's office. His door was closed and Pam was perched on a chair in the anteroom, looking at her phone.

"You took your time. He's just finishing a call."

I sprawled on the couch. This room held many memories from Sophie Ann's time. And recent ones, from a moonless night in February.

The blood had washed out of the carpet well.

I hadn't spilt much that night – only a few trigger-happy idiots eager to meet their makers. With several key vampires away at the Amun sheriff conference and plenty of inside knowledge, subduing Teresa's guards had taken only minutes.

Minutes that ended with Felipe's regent on her knees in this very room, my sword on the back of her neck.

I gave Teresa a choice. Lose her head, or surrender and I would help her escape Felipe's wrath. She chose to flee, leaving on the flight I had waiting for her. Back to Italy, to her maker, who would protect her from de Castro.

I expected she would. She owed Felipe fealty, but she wouldn't fight to the death for him. She wasn't the type. She was an officious bean-counter like Sandy Seacrest before her.

The takeover had gone smoothly. Simultaneous attacks in Baton Rouge, Lake Charles and Alexandria secured Areas 2, 3 and 4 without a hitch thanks to our excellent intelligence gathering.

That was Salome's doing. She and the Seven Veils cartel had grown tired of Nevada's rule after an attempt to muscle in on their profits. Madden had wisely left them alone during his regency, but while Felipe was recovering from his injuries someone in Vegas had gotten nervous and greedy.

A fatal combination.

Salome was very eager to get rid of the threat to her income. She whispered discontent in certain ears, noted reactions. She told me which rats would jump ship, which needed cornering and staking.

Of course, Area 5 was different.

Pam was away at the sheriff conference. She bitched non-stop about missing the fight, but it meant dear Felipe couldn't cry treason. Even better, Pam's reluctance to attend convinced Teresa I was still injured and in no state to defend myself, let alone stage a coup. In a deliciously ironic twist, Teresa ordered Thalia to accompany Pam, thinking that left me open to attack. In reality, it gave Pam a ferocious guard at the most critical, dangerous time.

My old retinue gleefully switched sides, joining with Rasul and his small force to hunt down the assassins Felipe sent to dispatch me. Once the state was secure, I summoned Pam home. She left the conference in a rush, obviously distraught. Everyone, Felipe's sheriffs included, assumed I'd been ended.

There was nothing Felipe could do about me summoning Pam after the fact. Not when he had so recently and emphatically set a precedent of honouring maker's commands over sheriff's fealty oaths when he released me to Freyda.

Ah, poetic justice.

And he didn't have an arm to wave about it. Literally.

I'd seen that for myself when I video-conferenced him to inform him I'd taken Louisiana. In case no-one had been brave enough to break it to him. Losing an arm made him cranky.

Flamboyant as ever, he was wearing a red silk sling over his stump. Watching him fail to contain his fury as he conceded the state to me – pending a ruling from the Amun council to make it official, of course – was a memory I would treasure for a long, long time.

Weeding out the last of his minions took a few weeks, but it was amazing what a large war chest and a network of allies could accomplish. It was quick and relatively bloodless, exactly what Louisiana needed: she'd suffered enough losses.

Now she needed a period of stability to bring older, more cautious vampires back, along with their money and strength. Good for revenue, good for keeping the jackals from my door.

To that end, I installed older powerful sheriffs: Neb in Lake Charles and Oskar in New Orleans. Rasul was rewarded with Alexandria, sparsely populated and suitable for a younger sheriff. Area 5 was somewhat under-powered, but Pam had Thalia and the rest of my still-loyal retinue and I had allies to either side in Texas and Mississippi, and a buffer to the north. Arkansas had signed a non-aggression treaty with me.

Red Rita. Not Joseph.

I was right to be wary of his relationship with Stan. Joseph had not been satisfied with the offer of Arkansas. Not at all. He had bigger appetites, setting his sights on Texas, planning to betray Stan and end him on the night of the coup.

Russell got wind of it somehow. An ex-lover in Texas or perhaps from Bartlett, who seemed to have eyes everywhere. The details mattered not. Even that major problem had been easily overcome. Stan's simple, elegant solution was to approach Red Rita and offer her Arkansas for herself, free of de Castro. She saw the advantages and agreed.

The way Stan told it, Joseph was still gaping in surprise when he severed his treacherous neck.

Amun had given me and Rita their official approval a few weeks after the takeover, taking a dim view of Felipe's protests and dismissing his petition for compensation. No-one liked having a clan outsider in charge of New Orleans, and my choice of Oskar for sheriff convinced them I was the right monarch to restore the jewel in Amun's crown.

Bluntly put, they missed the handsome tithes it had generated for them in the past.

Approaching Oskar had been one of my earliest moves. I sprung the offer on him in New York, in the ruins of his office, back in December. Right after he tried to end me, the latest in a long line of attempts that littered our turbulent history. From both sides.

We had just broken apart. I was crouched warily by the door. He was leaning on a dented filing cabinet, nursing a broken wrist.

With gritted teeth and a sickening crunch, he reset it. A second later I did the same for my dislocated shoulder. He pulled a silver dagger out of the ruins of the chair I'd been sitting just moments before. Wiping my blood off it onto his jeans, he glared at the slash it had put in my arm, already half healed.

We were still evenly matched. I had more reach and strength; he was slightly faster as he had fifty years on me. Not enough when I knew an attack was coming.

I broke the silence by offering him New Orleans. It took him by surprise. After a second, he barked out a bitter laugh.

"Is that meant to console me?"

"No."

He spat blood and wiped his mouth on his ruined sleeve. I pulled the chunk of shattered desk he'd tried to stake me with out of my side with a grunt, pressing down on the well of blood as the wound closed.

"Come back tomorrow," he growled.

I limped out without another word.

Our next meeting had been distinctly frosty, but a week later he accepted, agreeing to take Area 1 and Louisiana's upcoming seat on the Amun council. It gave him a reason to get out of New York. He'd been settled there for some time and I suspected he needed a change.

Too many memories.

Oskar's voice pulled me out of mine and back to the present.

"How did it go with the packs tonight?" he asked, standing in the doorway to his office. "Did Neb get what he wanted?"

"Yes," I said, standing.

Pam and I followed him inside to discuss the salient points. As always when the three of us met, Karin's absence loomed large, but none of us spoke of it.

...

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes:<strong>

1. Salome is based on the vague description in the books, plus my imaginings. Not the TB version.

2. BSA: the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.

3. The tango was inspired by the film Take the Lead. I tried to do it justice.

If you didn't read Trust, you might be surprised that Rory and Eric seem so close here. Suffice it to say that their friendship deepened considerably during the six months Sookie was away.


	12. Eye of the Storm

**A/N: **Hi everybody! Hope you're all having great holidays so far.

Let me know if I've missed any typos - I'm a bit under the weather today. Blooming sinuses. Here is last week's chapter. We've jumped back in time to Sookie getting that drink. Let's see the evening from her POV.

* * *

><p><strong>Eye of the Storm<strong>

* * *

><p>One gin and tonic couldn't blot out Rory's accusations. She'd hit my last nerve, raking up that whole mess with Eric right after I'd finally buried it. Damn that bitch, and the unwelcome feelings she'd stirred up.<p>

Guilt. Regret. Doubt.

Why hadn't I tried to do something? Maybe–

No. I wasn't going down that road. She was dead wrong. There was nothing I could have done. Focusing on my anger at her, I emptied my glass and signalled for a refill.

Quinn growled, "What did that bastard do, babe?"

"Easy tiger," Amelia whispered. "Levi is watching. I don't want to get thrown out."

Amelia's concern hit me from one side and Quinn's anger buffeted me from the other. My own emotions were stormy enough without theirs. I snapped, "It's none of your business, Quinn. I can take care of myself."

Amelia glanced over at Diantha and side-eyed me, but wisely didn't say anything. Quinn stewed in silence while the bartender fixed my drink. I took it and leaned against the bar, looking round. Levi was over by the entrance, eyeing Quinn discreetly, but nobody else was paying us any attention. My audience with royalty had gone unremarked, thank goodness.

A flash of red on the dance floor caught my eye. Pam was talking to Malcolm Craw, the witch nodding repeatedly as she rattled off what looked like instructions. Orders from his imperial high-handedness, no doubt. I turned away, squashing that line of thought.

Amelia suggested cautiously, "We can call it a night, Sookie."

"I'm fine. Really." The second dose of gin was starting to kick in. I gave her a tight smile, but she didn't buy it.

Quinn glared over my head in Pam's direction and muttered, "I'll stake him and his fucking child."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said sharply. "It was that damn Rory Kingfisher anyway."

He frowned. "Who?"

I could have kissed him. Finally, someone who'd never heard of her.

Amelia spoilt that by looking around eagerly. "She's here? What does she look like?"

"Tall. Red hair. Green dress," I said curtly.

"I can't see her."

"She just stepped out." Amelia never could take a hint.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "If she comes back, could you introduce–"

"That's not a good idea."

"But didn't she help you with," she flicked her eyes to Quinn and looked apologetic, "Sam and everything?"

I snorted. "Depends what you mean by help. I don't trust her. We're not close, Ames."

"Oh. Okay."

Bless her, she dropped the subject, even though she was dying to know more about Rory. Or rather Rory's magic. But I wasn't off the hook.

"I'm going to powder my nose," she said, subtle as a brick. _Come with? s_he prodded mentally.

"Fine," I muttered, draining my second drink and leaving the glass on the bar. I walked off without another word, Amelia trailing behind me.

Her timing sucked. I was within spitting distance of the door to the back offices when it opened and Eric came in.

With Rory.

Holding her hand.

Something I doubted Amelia or anyone else noticed, because Eric let go pretty damn fast. Not fast enough for me to doubt what I'd seen, though, or to stop the memories stabbing at my heart. All the times Eric held my hand like that, circling his thumb over my knuckles to comfort me. I shot into the safety of the bathroom before either of them spotted me, Amelia hot on my heels.

Once we were inside, she blurted out, "Was that Rory?"

Damn. "Yes," I admitted tightly.

"Why was she with… Oh."She gave me a sympathetic look, thinking: _That has to burn._

"It's not like that Ames," I said stiffly, although I couldn't have said exactly what it was like.

"Okay. If you say so. What's going on between you and Eric?"

"A whole lot of nothing, Ames." I glanced at the attendant. I really didn't want to say more, but Amelia wasn't going to let it go.

"Really?" _What if she still –?_

"Yes, really. That's over."

"Oh."_ Thank God. She's moved on. Wish I could say the same. _"Why d'you go off with him like that then?"

"Did you know he's king?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "Didn't you?"

"Not until tonight."

"What? Didn't Pam–"

"Nope," I interrupted. "No-one said a word."

"No way. I thought you knew. That's why I was worried about…" She side-eyed the statue-like attendant and whispered, "Thalia and all."

"Oh." I sagged against one of the beautiful marble sinks. "Pam assured me Eric doesn't have anything to do with that."

"And you believed her?" she asked, incredulous.

I shrugged helplessly. What was I going to do if Eric was involved? Get rid of the guards? On the whole, I'd rather be alive and pissed with Eric. The alternative was a lot less pleasant.

Amelia frowned. "What did he want? Does he want you to work for him?"

"No. Nothing like that. I wanted to talk to him, actually. I needed … to say my piece."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Bet he loved that."

"Oh, he was just thrilled." I sighed. "Look, Ames, I don't want my issues with Eric to ruin your night."

"You're sure you don't want to leave?" She bit her lip.

"I'm sure." I made an effort to smile for real. "Forget Eric. Let's have some fun."

Amelia used the facilities – after all, she was pregnant – and I resolved to enjoy the rest of the night if it killed me. But when we left the restroom, I couldn't help glancing over at that booth. Eric was indeed sitting in it, deep in conversation with David Thrash of all people. Distracted, I wasn't minding where I was going and almost walked into Pam. Vampires didn't bump into ordinary mortals; she sidestepped swiftly.

"Sorry, Pam. Didn't see you there."

"In this dress?" she said drily. "I'm hardly camouflaged."

The two vampires following her – one male, one female – stilled, examining Amelia and me with interest.

"Amelia," Pam said warmly. "You're looking tasty tonight."

Amelia said with less warmth, "Pam. You look... striking."

"That's what I was going for," Pam replied with a grin.

The other female vampire looked Amelia up and down with heat in her eyes. She was hefty for a vamp, her ample hips and bosom exaggerated by her lack of height and a tight silk dress. She had long black hair, skin that had paled from olive, striking grey eyes and a wide sensual mouth.

"Who is this, Pamela?" she asked, smiling at Amelia.

Pam answered calmly, "Amelia Broadway, witch. And Sookie Stackhouse."

Immediately both vampires zeroed in on me. Fun times. I guessed they recognised my name because his _majesty_ had graced me with his protection.

"Introductions go both ways, Pam," I pointed out testily, irritated by the way the pair were scrutinising every blemish and line on my face.

"This is Salome. And Neb, sheriff for Lake Charles," she said in a bored tone.

I stiffened. So the female was Mickey's maker. I sure didn't think much of her taste in men.

"Oh, you run Seven Veils," Amelia said, looking at Salome with a flicker of curiosity.

"Yes, but I tire of casinos. You are local? Which coven?"

"Dumaine Street. Are you interested in hiring us? Here, take my card." Amelia pulled one out of her purse. "If you ever need anything unusual, curios, artefacts or the like, call my store."

I shifted uneasily, wondering if I should warn her that Salome might be as psycho as her child. Salome noticed and smiled toothily at me. It wasn't at all reassuring. She said, "Your friend does not approve of me. Are you Christian, Sookie Stackhouse?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered firmly.

That amused her for some reason. "I am not the dancing girl who asked for the baptist's head on a silver plate, nor am I the Salome who bore witness at the carpenter's crucifixion. I am not quite that old."

I gave her a level look. "I didn't think you were."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then what is your beef with me?"

"Salome," Neb said softly, speaking for the first time, "you have surrounded yourself with sycophants if not being instantly adored confounds you. Not everyone has to worship at your feet."

She turned to him and said arrogantly, "Most humans do."

"Yes, but she is a rare creature, this one."

I felt a thrill of fear at his words, so close to Ocella's. I hadn't paid much attention to Neb. He was not a striking vampire and he'd hung back from the conversation.

I looked at him properly. He was short and slender, with delicate, almost feminine hands. He'd been turned in his late forties and not for his looks – he was bald, with a long nose and prominent ears. His skin would have been mid-brown in life, matching his eyes. Large, intelligent and framed by thick black lashes, they were his best feature. I realised with a jolt that he was very old, probably far older than Eric, and he had been watching me closely the whole time.

When I finished my inspection, he nodded to me, his eyes amused. Salome blinked at his gesture of respect, but it made me bold.

I said as casually as I could, "Neb. That's an unusual name."

"Nebhotep would be even more out of place, I think."

"Nebhotep … Hotep means peace, right?." Imhotep meant man of peace. I'd read that after watching a movie. The real Imhotep was an architect and a doctor to his Pharaoh, nothing like the Hollywood version.

Neb blinked in surprise. "Yes. Nebhotep, master of peace. A good name for a scribe."

An Egyptian scribe. Wow. "Guess you're in the right clan."

He smiled faintly. "Perhaps not. I was born under Nefertiti, when worshipping Amun-Ra was out of favour."

It was my turn to gape. Nefertiti ruled Egypt over three millennia ago. "You must be–"

"Very old," Pam cut in. That was an understatement. "I hate to interrupt, but it's time Neb."

Neb nodded to me politely before they moved on, towards the dance floor. A slight frown marred Salome's smooth face as she turned away. Maybe Neb wasn't usually so chatty. Or Salome didn't like humans who were more interested in history than falling over themselves to suck up to her.

…

Back at the bar with Quinn, I switched to coke and cast around for a neutral topic. "So, how's Frannie?"

"Good. She got married last year. Decent enough guy. Twoey."

"That's great," I said, trying to sound perky.

Quinn frowned into his glass and I got the impression he wasn't completely thrilled with Frannie's choice. "Yeah. He even found a place for mom close to them, so Frannie can visit. Mom seems to like it."

"That's good, her being near family." As long as she didn't escape and eat anyone.

"I guess," Quinn mumbled.

Amelia rolled her eyes at me, less than sympathetic to Mama Quinn's plight having seen the were-tigress on the edge of losing it. She looked across the club and flinched suddenly, shrinking against the bar like she wanted to hide.

Concerned, I glanced over my shoulder, but the place had gotten busier and I couldn't pinpoint who or what had spooked her. Diantha was watching a group making their way towards our end of the bar – three men and a woman, werewolves from their minds. As I turned back to Amelia, she grabbed my arm, her thoughts screaming at me.

_Don't say anything about the baby. He doesn't know._

Amelia's paramour, Tyrone, was here. I nodded slightly to show I'd heard her, miraculously keeping my face blank, as a deep voice called from behind us: "John Quinn, you're a sight for sore eyes."

The oldest wolf, a stocky African American in his fifties, was closing on us.

"Clay Pellissier. Good to see you," Quinn said, breaking into a wide grin as they shook hands.

He wasn't Tyrone. I breathed a sigh of relief; he was too old for Amelia. The younger guy with him was handsome in a rough masculine way. Like Tray.

Yeah, that was him.

Amelia faked a polite smile quite convincingly under the circumstances. Tyrone barely glanced at her, but he could hardly acknowledge her in front of everybody. Curious and worried for Amelia, I lowered my shields as Clay introduced the group.

"You remember Tyrone, my nephew. Mattias Laroche, packmaster of Lune de Sang, and his second Beth."

Mattias, a thin dark-haired Were full of nervous energy, shook Quinn's hand vigorously. Beth, husky and a little older than me, looked to be Cajun like her packmaster. She barely nodded to Quinn, seemingly unaffected by his reputation. Tyrone, however, couldn't wait to step forward and shake Quinn's hand, with a big old grin on his face and a wave of admiration that bordered on hero-worship.

"Quinn. With two pretty ladies," he said. "Gotta leave some for the rest of us, tiger. Who do we have here?"

Quinn was none too pleased by Tyrone's blatant appraisal of me. It wasn't just an act to hide his connection to Amelia either; Tyrone fancied himself a player. Quinn wasn't the only one who disapproved. Beth's mouth set in hard line.

Quinn replied gruffly, "This is my … friend Sookie, and her friend Amelia."

Ignoring Quinn's not-so-subtle implication that I was more than his friend, I held my hand out politely. Tyrone made a big show of kissing it, giving my chest a long glance as he bent over. With the skin contact I got lust and swaggering bravado. He'd love to 'win' me from Quinn.

My eyes met Beth's over his head. She thought he was an idiot too.

Tyrone treated Amelia to a casual handshake and disinterested hello. Poor Amelia played it cool, but she was a mess inside. Then he winked at her brazenly, and her anxiety spiked.

Luckily his uncle and the other packmaster missed that, having turned away to ask Quinn about the Belle Chasse pack contest. Beth didn't. Sharp-eyed and in the right position, she also caught Amelia's panic.

Her mind pulsed with anger. Oh-oh.

Oblivious to the trouble he'd stirred, Tyrone turned away to gossip with the menfolk. Half listening to them, I picked up that Belle Chasse were coyotes, a new pack. Clay said coyotes were natural troublemakers, but I took that with a pinch of salt. Werewolves tended to look down on other were-animals.

Meanwhile, Beth was silently weighing Amelia up. I didn't know what to say to ease the tension. Amelia took a nervous sip of her drink and Beth stared at Amelia's wedding rings, scowling. Amelia paled and made a hurried excuse, shooting off to talk to someone on the other side of the club.

Beth stepped closer to me, lowering her voice. "Tell your friend: Once a stray, always a stray. Wouldn't want her getting her hopes up."

Something in her face made me ask quietly, "Know that from personal experience?"

Her mouth twisted. "Long time ago. Everyone makes mistakes." She nodded at Clay. "I know the family real well."

Oh," I said lamely. She must know the injured party, Tyrone's wife. I wanted to defend Amelia, say she wasn't a home-wrecker, but if the baby was Tyrone's … What a mess.

Beth gave me a once over. "You're not the usual tiger groupie."

"Guess I'm not."

"You're not a friend, either. Quinn one of your mistakes?"

I froze in confusion. Why would she say that? A burst of hearty male laughter spared me from answering.

Clay said, "Better not keep the king waiting, Mattias."

Eric. I couldn't escape him. I wondered darkly what _his maj-ass-ty _wanted with them. He wasn't fond of wolves unless they owed him favours.

"As long as we're drinking on the deader's dime," Tyrone muttered. "Rich fucker."

Clay said sternly, "Watch your mouth. You've got cubs to think of. Sarah don't need to be widowed."

Maybe one more cub than Clay thought. I cringed internally, hoping for Amelia's sake that this Sarah wasn't as vengeful as certain other twoey women. Debbie Pelt, for instance. Refusing to look towards Eric, I stared resolutely into my coke as the four of them left.

Quinn touched my arm. "Sorry about that, babe. The packs bring a lot of business my way."

"Oh, that's okay. You gotta work the room, right?"

"Yeah. Ty is a jackass though."

"Oh? I thought he was a wolf."

He chuckled.

Grinning back, I said, "His ass was definitely showing tonight. Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much. Clay says his mind is stuck at fifteen."

I wondered what Amelia had seen in him. A walk on the wild side? Surely Bob wasn't _that_ boring."How old is he?"

Quinn shrugged. "Thirty-ish."

Old enough to know better. Old enough for a wife and three kids.

"Man has kids, long past time he grew up," Quinn said, echoing my thoughts. He looked at me with those soulful eyes. "Some of us don't need our feet held to the fire to do that."

"I can see that," I said softly.

There was a weight behind his eyes that hadn't been there before. Tijgerin had gone back to Europe, insistent on following the old ways and raising their son alone, trampling on Quinn's heart in the process. I patted his arm awkwardly to show my sympathy.

…

Another gin and tonic chased away that awkwardness, and we fell into an easy teasing banter. A handsome distraction was just what I needed. I laughed at his jokes, brushed his arm, flicked my hair back. Flirted my ass off in other words, and Quinn appreciated every second.

Twice I weakened and looked over at the booth.

The first time, Eric, in profile, was impassive. Tyrone was arguing with Beth, so out of curiosity I reached out mentally. Everything was distorted, as if the whole booth was underwater. Malcolm's privacy spell was impressively effective.

The second time, they were all deep in conversation, except for Tyrone, who looked pissed, and Eric, still impassive. I hoped he wasn't settling a dispute. I didn't want to be around if things got ugly.

Rory wasn't sitting with him. Probably insisted on having nothing to do with his vampire bullshit, like I should have. Or Eric had learned from his mistakes and kept her safely out of things. Not that I cared about her neck after the way she'd spoken to me.

I shook those thoughts off and refocused on Quinn, and pleasant conversation. Some time later Amelia returned.

"Sorry. I bumped into an old friend," she said sheepishly. The 'friend' was an older woman with dark hair and expensive clothes. More than a friend at some point, from their body language. They'd been as thick as thieves for almost an hour.

"Oh, don't worry," I said cheerfully. "We can entertain ourselves, can't we Quinn?"

"Sure, babe."

Amelia noticed how close we were sitting and gave me a knowing smile. I shrugged it off. I was enjoying his company. Nothing wrong with that.

The atmosphere was fantastic. A few couples were out on the dance floor. When the band struck up a zydeco, Quinn grinned at me. I remembered too. Dancing with Quinn was my one good memory of Jason's ill-fated first wedding.

Quinn took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I'd forgotten how good he looked like that."Shall we, babe?"

"Why not?" I said, relaxed by the alcohol and the company. Hooking my hand over Quinn's warm muscular arm, I felt his anticipation and pleasure.

It wasn't until he led me down the steps that I remembered Eric was even there. Quinn was about the only man who could eclipse him. Literally in this case: Quinn's large frame was between me and his fang-ship. As we walked out on to the floor, I looked over at the other side of the room.

Rory was sitting with three fairies. Genuine fairies from their minds. Their body language was intriguing. The woman, a blonde, was very touchy with the male next to her _and_ Rory. The other guy couldn't take his eyes off Rory. If he was a human, I'd say he had the hots for her.

Rory was playing games. Eric wouldn't like that. Arlene loved men fighting over her, but I wouldn't have pegged Rory as that trashy. And she'd lectured me on the difference between love and petty jealousy, the hypocrite.

Quinn tugged on my hand and I had to concentrate on my footwork. It was a real pleasure dancing with him. For a big man he sure could move. I saw Beth, dancing with Tyrone's uncle. Clay cut a fine figure and she was grinning at him. I found myself beaming like an idiot at Quinn too. It was hard not to; zydeco was so exuberant.

We shifted so I was facing Eric's booth. The other packmaster, the scrawny one, was choking on his beer, looking at Salome. The privacy spell was down, but I wasn't close enough to hear them. I sure as hell caught the leer Salome gave Eric, and his fangy smile as they toasted each other.

No wonder she recalled Mickey on Eric's say-so. Looked like more than favours had passed between them. I wasn't so ill-mannered as to crane my neck to see how Rory was taking that, but I might have smiled a little wider. Not very charitable, but ask me if I cared.

The dance turned me away from the booth just as Ty scowled at Beth. Stretching out my mental feelers, I searched out his snarly mind, wanting to know if she'd said something about Amelia to him. He was a seething mass of jealousy and longing.

For Beth. His old flame.

Guess she was the one that got away. Amelia really could pick 'em: a horn dog fixated on another woman.

By the end of the dance, I was glowing and slightly out of breath. Quinn's hand was hot in mine. He smiled down at me.

"Let's dance another, babe."

"Human here. I need a breather."

He grinned even wider. "Ain't that the truth." The next song started, and he said softly, "I never did get to waltz with you."

No, he hadn't.

Not at Rhodes. Eric had swooped in to take his place after Quinn, my honey at the time, had taken an arrow in the shoulder for me. I still felt guilty about that. It wasn't just the bond that allowed Eric to sweep me off my feet that night, my attraction to him had played a part too.

"Okay. A waltz it is." I owed him one.

Taking our positions, the heat of Quinn's hand warmed the small of my back. His mind was a quiet hum of pleasure. As we began, I saw the scrawny packmaster partnering Salome ahead of us. Guess she hadn't aged out of cross-dating. Go figure.

I couldn't resist a peek at Eric. His face was blank, deliberately blank. He was annoyed. Or bored. He was giving Salome and the wolf a true predator's stare, locked on and unblinking. My money was on pissed. I knew how he felt about twoeys.

As Quinn swept me around the floor, I saw Rory smile and raise her glass to Eric. I didn't see his reaction, but whatever it was, her face fell. I couldn't make sense of what was going on between them, but it sure looked like Rory was the one doing the chasing.

That explained the moon-eyed fairy. Guess Rory was unsure of Eric's affections.

I sure understood that. I sympathised for all of a second, until I realised the waltz was bringing us towards Eric's table. Perhaps it was tacky of me to be dancing with Quinn in front of an ex, but I was a free woman. And Eric had other women on his mind tonight; I figured he'd hardly notice.

Despite that, I felt uncomfortable.

Quinn was uneasy too. He kept my back to Eric's booth as we passed. I appreciated that and the comforting way his thumb was stroking me. I smiled up at him and he squeezed my waist.

"Having fun, Sookie?"

"You betcha."

We passed two tables of vamps. One kept looking our way, a snappy dresser with dark hair. He was real familiar, but I couldn't place him. Perhaps he'd been in the abbey when Sophie-Ann and Threadgill had their tiff.

Whatever. Vampires be damned. I focused on the warm man in my arms.

And what a fine figure of a man he was. Some steamy scenes from our past came flooding back to me: my room, Hadley's kitchen, eating breakfast together. I managed not to blush like a school girl, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from his.

_I missed you babe, _he thought gently at me.

"Me too," I whispered and regretted my choice of words immediately. Sam. The mistakes I'd made there, the reminder that I was freshly divorced and already in another man's arms.

"Don't," he said, misinterpreting my expression. _Don't regret what happened with us. Damn bloodsuckers. Not your fault._

I smiled weakly at him.

I'd been hard on him when we broke up, selfishly expecting him to put me above his family. Unfair, but it was how I felt at the time.

After three years of Bernie, Quinn's mom didn't seem so bad. She couldn't help her fragile mental state, and at least she and Frannie had wanted me to stay with Quinn. More to see him happy than for my own sake, but that was a damn sight better than wanting to replace me with a shifter.

The waltz came to an end. Salome laughed loudly a few feet to our left, a throaty sensual laugh, and the packmaster blushed to his hairline. I looked up at Quinn, a wide smile on my lips. He grinned back, impulsively wrapping me in his arms and resting his chin on my head.

Crushed gently against his muscular chest, Quinn's scent surrounded me. It was all man, bringing to mind things a lady shouldn't think in public. The images from Quinn's head didn't help, images that told me he wouldn't object at all to a repeat of past performances.

I wasn't sure a trip down memory lane would be good for either of us. I shifted slightly, breaking the contact between our bare arms. The images stopped but I felt Quinn's surprise, followed by confusion and disbelief.

Figuring he'd noticed my discomfort, I pulled back, out of his arms. Not wanting to hurt his feelings further, I said warmly, "Thank you. That was lovely."

"Any time, babe," he said, smiling down at me a little stiffly.

The band were taking a break. I gestured to the bar. "Let's make sure Amelia hasn't gotten in any trouble."

As we crossed the floor he asked, "Trouble with that old flame of hers?"

"Old flame?" I asked, praying he didn't know about Tyrone.

"Yeah." He took the steps in one bound and looked around for Amelia while I caught up. "Edith, the one she was talking to earlier."

"You know her?"

He shrugged. "She's a witch. One of the other covens. She, uh, likes skinny brunettes."

"Oh. There she is," I said, spotting Amelia with Malcolm. I set off towards her.

"Should've put money on that," Quinn muttered.

"Oh hush, you. She's networking, not flirting."

"Sometimes it's the same thing."

"Is that so?" I said, raising my eyebrows and turning to look at him.

"You've got nothing to worry about." He grinned. "Clay and Mattias aren't my type."

"Uh-huh." Maybe the blonde bartender was though. "Anyway, Malcolm is taken."

"Is he? You met him before?"

I shook my head, smiling enigmatically as we reached Amelia. A girl had to keep some secrets.

…

The Weres stopped to say their goodbyes a short while later,and David Thrash motioned me aside. I stepped away from the group, wondering what the former Lieutenant Governor wanted with me.

"Gené told me what you did at the abbey that night," he said quietly, "so I'm returning the favour." He shot a glance at Quinn. "Don't play games with Northman."

I bristled. "What did that asshole say?"

"Nothing. He's too proud." He narrowed his eyes. "But no man likes his _ex-wife_ dangling another man under his nose."

Trying not to draw attention, I whispered forcefully, "I did no such thing. Eric couldn't care less what I–"

He interrupted sharply, "But he cares about his throne. Kings can't lose face."

"And don't I know it," I muttered.

He gave me pitying look. "Gené is fond of you. I'd hate to tell her something bad happened to you. Tonight was a mistake. Tread carefully."

I huffed at his back as he left to join his wife. Eric didn't care, I was sure of it. Glowering, I turned back to the others just as Beth said something to Amelia that made her flinch. Oh Lord.

"Beth," I said with fake cheerfulness. "I just love your shoes. Where did you get them?"

Beth snorted. "I take it back. You _are_ like all his other dumb groupies."

Before I could add real rudeness to my mistakes, Beth turned on her heel. Her packmaster took Quinn's card and followed her out. Clay shook Quinn's hand, but when he left Tyrone hung back, licking his lips nervously.

Amelia panicked, but Tyrone ignored her and beckoned Quinn over, speaking to him in a low voice. I heard Neb's name and stepped closer.

His back to me, Quinn sneered. "... doesn't scare me. I have connections."

"This ain't the pits."

"Lucky for you," Quinn rumbled, the threat clear in his tone. "You wouldn't last five minutes."

"And you won't last five seconds against that deader," Tyrone insisted. "Look man, be careful. That's all I'm saying."

Quinn scowled after Tyrone as he hurried to catch up with Clay.

Unhappy but relieved her beau had ignored her, Amelia was flagging. She stifled a yawn and I realised it was almost three in the morning. She was tired, pregnant, and the mood had definitely soured.

"Quinn, we should go," I said.

He cast a dark look towards Eric's table as we left.

…

Sunlight streamed through the shutters. Lying on my side, I rubbed sleep from my eyes. Green walls. Amelia's guest room. Snuggling down into the warm bed, I froze. Something heavy was draped over my waist, and a snuffle behind me told me I wasn't alone.

Dismayed, I peeked under the covers. I was naked as a jaybird, and a familiar arm was pinning me down.

Oh hell.

Sookie Stackhouse, I asked myself sternly, what did you do?

I had a damn good idea. Hardly breathing, I wriggled carefully out of Quinn's warm embrace, leaving the covers in place. Ignoring the clothes scattered across the floor, I pulled on my robe, tiptoed over to the dresser and eased a t-shirt, some underwear and a pair of shorts out of the drawer. Feeling gross, I grabbed my wash-bag and towel.

I stopped at the door and reached out mentally. Amelia was downstairs already, thank goodness. I slipped out, padded across to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I leaned against it and groaned softly. How was I going to get through this with any dignity?

I had no idea.

I didn't have one night stands. I didn't throw myself at men. First Blue, now this. Sure, my behaviour at Blue was down to alcohol and drugs, but this time I'd been tipsy, not drunk. I gave myself a stern lecture on moral fibre.

A half-hearted one. I'd been so... horny last night. For weeks, if I was honest. I'd blamed it on missing Sam's regular attentions, but when I'd been single in the past my libido hadn't gone into overdrive. Not like this.

Was it my age? A woman's sexuality supposedly blossomed in her thirties.

Wait.

I _had_ felt like this before. After vampire blood.

I did a quick calculation. Ignoring the time I'd been away with the fairies as it were, Eric gave me blood ten weeks ago. Hell, that was probably it.

The effects never lasted much beyond three months, so it would be gone soon. Good. I could ignore it, and Eric. It was bad enough that he spoilt my evening. I was damned if he was intruding on my morning too.

I scrubbed the sour taste of last night's tequila out of my mouth with a double dose of toothpaste. Looking in the mirror as I spat and rinsed, I cursed Amelia and her matchmaking. She'd invited Quinn in, got out a bottle of tequila, cut some limes, and disappeared faster than green grass through a goose. I should have known she was up to something; she couldn't drink and she was exhausted.

Quinn and I had talked for a while. Hours of flirting and two shots of tequila had weakened my resolve. My libido had drooled over his bare arms, his eyes, his smile, his shoulders. We'd gotten real friendly on the couch and then I'd led him upstairs. I remembered warm hands and a warm mouth in the dark, giggling and fumbling.

Lord, I hoped we'd…

Oh, thank God. We did. He'd fetched a condom from his wallet, tripping over in the unfamiliar room and sending me into a fit of giggles. He'd got back into bed, silencing me with a kiss. More fumbling, we'd had our golden moments and passed out.

It had been... Fun? Sweet? Clumsy? Ridiculous?

All of the above, but it was going to be as awkward as hell when he woke up.

…

Showered and dressed, I wavered in the hallway. Quinn or coffee? Was it cowardly to sneak downstairs hoping he'd just disappear? But Amelia was in the kitchen, and I definitely wasn't ready to face her. I opened the bedroom door gingerly.

"Quinn," I gasped. Damn. He was sitting up in bed, half awake.

"Hey, babe," he said with a yawn. "Amelia brought coffee." He waved at two steaming cups of heaven waiting by a plate of pastries.

"Oh. That was nice of her." Not. I bet she came up while the shower was running, hoping to catch me alone so she could interrogate me. I stepped inside and shut the door.

Quinn got out of bed and stretched lazily. Naked.

Hot damn.

I stomped down on my traitorous libido. Hard. He rubbed his head and mumbled hopefully, "Bathroom?"

"Oh. Across the hall. Um, here, take my towel." My robe was never going to fit.

"Thanks, babe," he said. Wrapping the towel round that gorgeous body, he kissed my cheek and gave me a sleepy smile. After he left, I fell on the coffee like a fiend from hell. I felt almost human when Quinn came back, smelling of Felix's no-tears bubble bath. I stifled a smile.

"Coffee?" I held out the cup.

"Thanks."

He drank it down and demolished three pastries, while I busied myself picking up clothes and folding them neatly. I was just thinking we'd managed to bypass the awkwardness when he spoke.

"Babe. We need to talk."

"We do?"

He blinked. "Yeah. Of course."

"What about?"

His forehead wrinkled. "Last night. Us."

"Us?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "Us."

I sat down on the bed and he scowled at the space I'd left between us. I tried to be gentle.

"Quinn, I hadn't planned on there being an us. I hadn't even planned on..." I waved at the bed.

"I thought..." He cleared his throat. "Last night meant something to me."

I sighed at the disappointment in his eyes. "It was… lovely. But I'm just getting my life back on track after Sam."

His eyes narrowed. "You still hung up on him?"

"No," I said firmly, even though that wasn't quite the truth. "It's just … We were married and I expected to stay that way. I'm still getting over losing that."

"I understand. Tijgerin …" He looked down at his feet and spoke softly. "It's hard when things don't work out the way you want." Then he looked up, reached over and took my hand, searching my face. "But we're good together, babe. Always were. I think we could make a real go of it."

He was still in my towel, distracting me with his arms and chest. And those violet eyes, so pretty. "I … I'm not sure this is the right time to start something new, Quinn."

"When is? I don't want to wait. Not if you want this too, and I think you do."

I frowned. I wasn't so sure he was right.

"You were too quick to judge me over de Castro and you know it," he accused bitterly. "If it hadn't been for Northman and his blood…" He sighed, and softened his voice. "Look, babe, I'd like to see where this could go without the damn bloodsuckers interfering. Will you give me another chance?"

"I … I need to think about it."

He wasn't happy. "I have to be back in Memphis tomorrow."

"Oh." I didn't appreciate being pressured, but I didn't want to leave him hanging either. Even if he'd inadvertently done that to me when he disappeared for months after Rhodes.

He looked at the neat pile I'd made of his suit. "I need to go back to the hotel, run a few errands."

"Okay. Why don't you do that, then come back for dinner? I'll have an answer for you then."

He nodded seriously. "Okay, let's do that. All I want is a chance."

…..

I skedaddled, taking our dishes downstairs so Quinn could cover up that sinful body of his. When I walked into the kitchen Amelia broke into a huge grin.

"Morning, Sookie. How did you _sleep_?" Faced with my grim expression, her face fell. She stayed quiet while I loaded the dishwasher. Finally she asked, "You okay?"

I shrugged. "Any more coffee?"

She tripped over herself to fix me a cup. I stared into it and made non-committal noises as she rambled nervously about places we could visit that day. Footsteps on the stairs made us both tense.

Quinn stuck his head in. "See you later, babe."

"Yep. See you later."

We both sounded subdued.

Amelia waited until the front door closed. "You were getting on so well last night. What happened?"

I gave her a sharp look. "I blame the tequila."

"Oh." She twisted her hands anxiously._ I just wanted to give her a nudge._

"A nudge?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"I … You said you wanted to have some fun," she said defensively. Then she muttered, "One of us should." _I'm such a mess. Ty was horrid last night. What am I going to do?_

That threw ice water on my righteous indignation. And frankly, I hadn't needed much encouragement to jump all over Quinn. I said sternly, "Next time no nudges, missy. I don't need your help."

"Sorry. Was it awful?"

"No. It's just …" I sighed. "Quinn wants more."

"Oh. Would that be so bad?" she asked curiously.

I leaned back against the counter. "I just got divorced. I don't think I'm ready."

"Tell him to wait."

"He wants an answer today."

"Then he's fresh out of luck. Unless... " She narrowed her eyes at me. "Would you regret turning him down?"

That echoed a question Eric asked me about Quinn years ago. I'd said then that it may have been huge mistake ending things with Quinn when we had the start of something good going. Would I be compounding that mistake if I turned him away again?

I rubbed my forehead. "I just don't know, Ames."

"Well... You were kinda good together. Think it over."

…

Amelia went out to pick up some steaks for dinner. I sat outside by the pond, sipping iced tea.

I didn't want to jump into something just because I was lacking other suitors, like I did with Sam. But there was something between Quinn and me. A warm, easy affection that promised more.

Trouble was, I didn't know if Quinn and I were as suited as he and Amelia seemed to think. Us being in the same state had been a rare occurrence, and we hadn't spent that much time together. That had meant outside forces had pulled us apart far too easy.

Would that be any different now?

Well, Frannie and Mama Quinn seemed less dependent on him. His family commitments had been the main reason I'd broken things off, but my hurt over his silence and his betrayal of the Louisiana vampires had been factors too. Quinn was right there: Eric's blood and my feelings for him had muddied the waters, dividing my loyalties during the takeover.

We should have been strong enough to survive that, but we hadn't had time to cement things. Maybe if Quinn actually took that month off…

I was tempted. I'd been tempted the last time Quinn made me an offer, at Craig Merlotte's wedding. This time I was free to accept. I had enough regrets, maybe I deserved another chance too.

I went back and forth between temptation and caution, staring at the water lilies floating on the dark pond, my thoughts clouding.

Like the murky water. Murky, dark water.

Eastorhild's words floated on the breeze: _Wet your lips. Took a sip. Never downed love's draft. Never gave him a chance._

My heart skipped a beat and I sat very still.

A chance.

Quinn asked for a chance.

Was that what Eastorhild meant – that I'd missed out on love by dismissing Quinn without a fair hearing?

Wait, since when did I make important decisions on the ramblings of a water-sodden corpse?

A corpse that wasn't a corpse, though. Eastorhild was a powerful magical being and she'd muscled into my head and poked around in all the dark corners there before making her pronouncement. What had she seen?

I shuddered, remembering the intrusion and her cold touch.

No, I wouldn't do this because of her. If I did this, I was doing it for me.

My conscience was telling me I hadn't given Quinn a fair crack of the whip. That was something else Quinn was right about, and I owed it to myself to find out what could have been.

…

I was waiting in the lounge when Amelia let Quinn in and made herself scarce. Quinn was anxious, so I put him straight out of his misery, smiling warmly. "Yes, Quinn. My answer is yes. As long as you take some time off."

Only his mouth smiled back, not his eyes. I expected more enthusiasm.

"That's great, babe. But I won't hold you to that."

"What? Why?"

He said grimly, "We've got a problem."

Already? My heart sank and I sat down, gesturing for Quinn to do the same.

He let out a long breath, and plunged straight in. "This is the first time I've been in Louisiana since the takeover."

"Eric's takeover," I mumbled, suddenly having a real good idea where this was going.

He nodded tensely. "Northman has his sheriffs keeping tabs on twoeys, like de Castro did. Belle Chasse invited me here and the Area 1 sheriff was fine with it. I assumed Northman was too."

"Okay. That's good."

"Maybe not. I asked around today. The sheriff came from New York. Been there a while. He and Northman aren't … close."

"So," I said slowly, "he might not know Eric banned you from his area. But that was years ago."

"Babe, do you really think Northman won't interfere again? After last night …" He shrugged sheepishly. "I'm sorry, babe. Seeing you again, I got carried away." _Didn't think…__ shouldn't have provoked him…_

His thoughts became a jumble of frustration. Feeling the same, I slumped in my chair. This was not the joyful reunion I'd imagined. As for provoking Eric, who I danced with was none of his damn business. He didn't own me. We hadn't been an item for years.

He wasn't my damn king. Screw him.

"I won't let Eric spoil things," I said firmly, bringing some hope back to Quinn's beautiful eyes. As if vampire drama would make me run for the hills. Stackhouse women had backbone.

"Me neither." He took my hand and smiled briefly. "There's more though. I sounded Clay and Mattias out this afternoon. Figured they'd have my back."

"What can they do against Eric?"

"I thought he'd be forced to let me visit if they insisted. He's got this new policy. Mutual respect. Deaders co-operating with twoeys." His lip curled. "That's the line he's selling, but it's horseshit. Deaders still have all the power. Mattias has thrown his lot in with them, so he won't rock the boat." _Northman has him snowed. Fucking bloodsuckers think they can buy anyone. "_Clay can't afford to lose the work the deaders are offering. His pack is dirt poor. Katrina hit them hard. He'd like to help, but he's between a rock and a hard place."

"That sucks," I said. "But I'm sure Alcide would–"

He shook his head. "Herveaux is in it up to his neck with Northman. And he didn't lift a paw last time I was banned." S_till mad over his father's death. Wanted you for himself, said as much at the time._

"I'm a friend of the pack. He has to help."

"No dice, babe. And with Ravenscroft as sheriff…"

I groaned.

Dating Quinn was going to be hard enough without Eric sticking his oar in. Petulantly, I wished Quinn had sorted this out before pleading his case with me. He'd known there might be trouble. Tyrone had warned him, but he'd forged ahead regardless.

Because he wasn't one to give up on something he wanted. In stark contrast to Eric, I thought snidely. In fact, his persistence was flattering. And I could hardly hold Quinn's tenacity against him; I was just as stubborn.

I wanted to believe that Eric wasn't petty enough to interfere, but the facts disagreed.

He'd banned Quinn before. David Thrash warned me that kings couldn't lose face, and enough vamps knew we'd been pledged. Eric still resented the way things ended, even if he had moved on. And as soon as we were alone, he'd asked if I was with Quinn.

Eric's ego. His damn pride. He'd kick Quinn out of Louisiana faster than he could drop fang.

"God dammit!" I burst out furiously. "There must be something we can do. No way is Eric calling the shots in my life."

Quinn let go of my hand and rubbed his head thoughtfully. "There is one thing, but you won't like it and I can't ask you to–"

A buzzer sounded in the kitchen. Amelia appeared, apologetic. "Um, dinner's ready."

"Thanks Ames. Can we talk while we eat, honey?"

"Sure, babe. Sounds like a plan."

...

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><p><strong>AN:** Yes, we are going there.

You see why I delayed posting this chapter. I didn't want to ruin anyone's Christmas. :-o

I always liked Quinn, and I felt Sookie wasn't particularly fair to him, but I know some of you will hate this plot line - feel free to rant in the reviews if you do. I appreciated the extra effort it will take non-Quinn fans to stick with this, and I promise he won't say babe too often. We will be switching to Eric's pov soon.


	13. The Plan

**A/N:** Here's to a great 2015 for y'all !

Thanks for all the reviews & support. Guest reviewers made some great points about Quinn, Amelia, Rory and even Oskar - thank you. The chicken noodle soup energy is finally working, so you get this chapter on schedule.

* * *

><p><strong>The Plan<strong>

* * *

><p>On Monday I went back to Bon Temps with a brand new plan. One Amelia, Quinn and I had brainstormed long and hard the previous evening.<p>

I spent the drive home making doubly, triply sure of my decision, without Quinn's pretty eyes tugging on my heart strings or Amelia's loud thoughts swaying mine. My mood lurched between nervous excitement and dread, but by the time I got home I was certain.

I wanted this all on my own.

…

Quinn had clammed up when we sat down to eat dinner, tucking into his steak and leaving me to fill Amelia in on our predicament. I got more and more enraged as I spoke, stabbing angrily at my salad.

"I won't have it, Ames. Eric has no right to interfere." My fork clattered noisily against the plate.

Amelia scowled. "What a petty jerk! I'm not surprised, though." _Not after Teresa._

"Teresa?"

Amelia resisted briefly, but gave in and dished the dirt. "Victor's replacement. The coven did some work for her. Routine stuff, mostly property wards." _A few special jobs, that spell for~_She paused to sip her lemonade.

I gestured impatiently for her to continue.

"Teresa was fair, paid well. She was a stickler for punctuality, but as long as you respected her rules she was friendly. For a vamp. I liked her." _Cleared up that mess with~_

"And?"

"Nobody's seen her since the takeover. I guess Eric didn't offer her the same deal Victor offered him." She grimaced. "Eric's more of a take-no-prisoners guy, huh?"

But he wasn't. I distinctly recalled him offering Victor's buddy Akiro the chance to surrender. "Maybe Teresa fought back?"

Amelia wrinkled her nose. "I doubt it. She seemed more manager than fighter."

"Oh." Apparently King Eric was more ruthless than Sheriff Eric. I frowned, reminded again that I didn't know Eric as well as I thought.

"It's a pity Teresa's gone." Amelia sighed. "The new sheriff won't hire us. He was really rude when we went to see him. Said he didn't trust us."

"Why? Because you worked for Teresa? That doesn't make sense. You worked for Sophie Ann and this Teresa didn't mind that," I pointed out. From what I'd seen vampires treated witches as hired help, they didn't cosy up to them. There was no reason a coven would be loyal to the previous regime, and Amelia's coven was powerful, useful.

"Yes, and I know for sure a couple of vamps who survived the takeover put in a good word for us. But as soon as he heard my name …" She pulled a face. "I think Eric blacklisted me for severing the blood bond."

"Oh hell no, that's not fair. You did that for me." I called Eric a few choice names in my head for bearing a grudge.

Amelia shrugged. "Interfering with their blood magic is a big no-no. We knew there might be repercussions. Not that I expected Eric to have much influence down here, but vamps talk. Don't worry about it."

"Eric sure isn't shy about throwing his weight around, is he?" I said sourly. Shit, he was bound to make a royal nuisance of himself over me and Quinn. Speaking of which … I turned to my new honey, irritated by his lengthy silence. "So, Quinn, what's this idea of yours to get Eric off our backs?"

He swallowed his mouthful. Staring intensely at me he said, "You won't be free while you're under his thumb, babe. He won't allow it. If you're serious about us, come to Memphis with me."

You could've heard a pin drop.

Amelia cracked first, clearing her throat and muttering about dessert, thinking: _Jesus, Quinn you couldn't work up to that gently?_

My thoughts frozen, I handed Amelia my plate. She clattered about in the kitchen while I stared at Quinn in shock. He stared back, a challenge in his eyes.

If I was serious, he said. How serious was I? What would I give up for another chance with him?

"Maybe there's a less drastic solution," Amelia suggested when she came back. She didn't really believe that, but I looked like a deer in headlights and she wanted to help.

We tossed some ideas around over dessert, but none seemed workable. Not against a king. Amelia even suggested going to Niall, but I had no idea what he thought of Quinn and after his willingness to kill Sam at the drop of a hat I didn't want him involved. He was too unpredictable, too inhuman.

Clutching at straws, I said, "I could just visit you in Memphis."

Quinn picked his words carefully. "Babe, you know how much I travel. It's not just Eric, if you stay in Bon Temps…"

I had to agree. Between Quinn's job and me studying and working, we'd hardly see each other. I'd already decided that we wouldn't last if that happened. With a heavy heart, I began to consider leaving Bon Temps.

The furthest I'd moved for a man was spending a few nights a week across the cemetery at Bill's place. That was nowhere near as daunting as moving two states away. I'd be leaving my home, my family, my friends.

In exchange I'd get a boyfriend. A damn good boyfriend, and a chance at happiness.

_If_ I could stay out of trouble without my guards.

Maybe that wasn't such a big if. The fairies were at peace. I'd be leaving the Weres from the pack war behind and perhaps the Fellowship, or rather the Chosen too. They weren't so active further north. On the other hand, vampires from all across Amun had attended the Rhodes summit.

Quinn was watching me patiently, giving me time to think. I was thankful for that, but I wasn't about to go into this blind. I needed to ask some difficult questions. Diplomatically not mentioning the protection Eric provided I asked him, "Will I be safe in Memphis?"

"I'll protect you," he said, a little too quickly.

"I know you will," I said, squeezing his hand. That was real important to Quinn, but one guy, even a weretiger, wasn't always enough. "What about when you're away?"

"She has guards in Bon Temps," Amelia put in, tactlessly.

He frowned. "The local packs will help. I've got some favours owed."

"Uh-huh." Twoey muscle was a good start. I could even afford to pay for it. But Tennessee's head vamp, a king I thought, wasn't one of the seven who'd given me protection. "What about the vamps?"

"They don't bother me. I can handle Tennessee. He stays out of twoey affairs, doesn't meddle." _Only that once. Put in a good word for me, got me that job in~_

His eyes flicked away. He was hiding something. Now, Quinn hadn't exactly been up front when we first met, but I understood that his mom's story was too painful to relate to someone he didn't know real well. That I could forgive, but he'd better come clean now or I'd call a halt to this.

There were vampires who had him by the tail, I remembered that. I said slowly, "Special Events has vamp owners. Some group in Vegas, right?"

Quinn smiled grimly. "De Castro's stooges. They're gone. There was some infighting in Nevada a while back. The ones that survived pulled out, sold their share to some European deaders. Silent backers."

He said share. "Who owns the rest?"

He shrugged dismissively. "Two Tennessee sheriffs got fingers in the pie. They're no trouble. We make 'em too much money. That's why we're based in Memphis." _Safe there. No interference. _"And," he added proudly, "once word gets around that you're my woman, my reputation will protect you."

He was confident about that. Amelia seemed to agree.

"Okay, what about…" Lord, this was delicate, but last I heard Felipe was still interested in 'securing' me so I had to ask. "The place your mom's at, in Nevada?"

He shook his head. "She's with Frannie, remember. In New Mexico. Nevada can't touch them."

Oh. And I had New Mexico's protection, so that was real handy. Good to know: Felipe had no hold over Quinn _and_ my in-laws wouldn't be breathing down my neck. I filed that nugget away.

Well, it seemed I would be reasonably safe in Memphis. As safe as anywhere, I guessed. It was just a matter of switching Pam's guards for Quinn's twoey friends, and keeping a low profile with the vamps.

Could I up sticks, leave it all behind? I had friends, good friends in Bon Temps. Family. Jason and Michele, Jay-Jay, a niece to pass Gran's recipes on to, Hunter. My home, full of memories…

That was a lot to give up.

I sure wouldn't miss the gossip, though. Or some of the folks in town. Or Bill's latest shenanigans. Apart from family and friends, I had precious little else holding me in Bon Temps. No job to quit. I could rent out the house. Missing out on college gave me pause though.

Amelia sensed my reluctance. "What's up Sook?"

I sighed. "College. I was really looking forward to it."

"Oh, wait a minute. I think–" She was already halfway out the door.

I turned to Quinn. "I'll need a job. Somewhere to live."

"You can live with me."

I bristled. "I don't think so, Quinn." He began to protest, but I raised a hand. "Look, this is all very sudden, and that's a step too far."

I was prepared to give this a shot, but putting all my eggs in one basket wasn't real sensible, however good our prospects seemed. I wasn't in one of my romance books. Real life was full of hard work and disappointments. Relationships didn't always work out.

Quinn didn't see it that way. "Babe, why not? I'm serious about this. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" Wasn't I the one contemplating turning my whole life upside down? Before I could run my mouth, Amelia bustled back in with an open laptop, oblivious to the tension.

"Let's see if you can transfer from LSU," she said, frowning at the screen. Giving Quinn a glare, I moved to sit next to her.

The community college would accept the tests I'd already taken and they ran similar courses to LSU, so that was promising. Amelia pulled up a real estate site and we found some cheap places to rent. Real modern places with nice kitchens, that had Amelia and me gushing enthusiastically. We browsed a recruitment site too. Memphis offered a lot more opportunities for employment than Bon Temps. On the minus side, there'd be more competition for vacancies. Amelia was sure painting a rosy picture though.

The idea grew on me, calling to that restlessness, that hunger for a brighter, bigger life that I'd had ever since I came back from England. I'd loved my trip overseas, and Memphis offered the excitement of a new place to explore.

I stared into space, biting my lip.

A fresh start might be just what I needed. Look what happened in Minden, with Jody and her uncle. My telepathy meant I saw more meanness than most and maybe that made me jaded, but it seemed to me that small towns had more than their fair share of small-minded folk.

Memphis might not be any better though. And I had other reservations: the traffic, the faster pace of city life. I would be well and truly out of my comfort zone. What if I hated it?

With a burst of anxiety I remembered Eric's blood was about gone. All those minds. My control was still holding, better than ever in fact, but if it slipped... Perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps the dramatic improvement in my shields was down to something else. Niall had given me that tonic. I'd been drinking Wynn's tea. And I'd accepted my telepathy, stopped fighting it. Had that–

Quinn interrupted my reverie, saying softly, "What's up, babe?"

His violet eyes, searching and uncertain, met mine. I struggled to find the words to explain.

Amelia answered for me. "It's a big change from Bon Temps. But you loved the quarter, Sookie. You'll thrive in Memphis, I just know it."_ Too much potential to be stuck in that backwater waiting tables. And I've got that charm I made for~_

There it was again. That hitch. I pounced on it, a welcome distraction from my dilemma. Time to solve that little mystery.

"Amelia," I said slowly, "your thoughts keep… hitching. Jumping. It's unnatural."

She flushed and song lyrics began repeating in her head, real loud. A surefire sign I was onto something. I sensed a swell of discomfort from Quinn.

Frowning, I turned to him. "Yours do too."

He couldn't stop himself from glancing guiltily at Amelia.

"Busted," I said softly.

Amelia's looping song stuttered to a halt. She cringed. "I thought you wouldn't be able to tell."

"A spell?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"Yes," she admitted sheepishly. "Nathaniel helped me construct it two years back. When he found out what you could do."

The Fellowship had found a way to block me in Rhodes. Pam knew a witch who could hide my guards from me. I shouldn't have been surprised that Amelia could do something similar, but I was surprised that she had. If I was honest, I was more than a little hurt that neither of them trusted me.

They'd been in touch with each other too. I hadn't known that. It hadn't occurred to me earlier, but Quinn hadn't asked about my connection to Niall. He knew I had a dab of fairy blood, but I couldn't recall telling him Niall was my great-grandfather.

I'd told Amelia though. Miss Motormouth. Yet she was the one who didn't trust me.

"Why, Ames?" I asked.

She saw the hurt in my eyes and stumbled over her words. "It's not … I didn't mean … There are things I have to keep secret. Coven business." She rambled nervously on. "The spell stops me thinking about them around you, that's all. It interrupts the thought, makes the brain switch tracks. It's quite tricky to do that safely. Mind altering spells are delicate. It took us months to refine it."

"Amelia did this on you too?" I asked Quinn.

"It's not about you, babe. My clients demand confidentiality, and Texas has a telepath. I don't trust him. Amelia offered to help."

"Oh." That made me feel better. "It works for all telepaths?"

"Not quite. I couldn't get it to work like that," Amelia said sadly. "It triggers when the subject is aware a telepath is around, and only for secrets they have to keep. Otherwise switching thoughts all the time would kinda scramble your brains."

Pam's necklaces blocked all telepaths as far as I knew, but I reckoned Amelia would be annoyed to hear another witch had beaten her to the punch. I said grudgingly, "I guess y'all have to keep your work secret. But I wish you'd told me about it."

Amelia was relieved. "Sorry. I should have. Thanks for understanding, Sook. It wasn't personal."

She got up to clear the dishes and I excused myself to use the bathroom. I needed a few minutes to think over my decision without the weight of Quinn's expectant stare.

Eric had a whole lot more power than I did. Power he wouldn't hesitate to use, as Amelia found out. Leaving would put a stop to his interference, but it still felt like a defeat. That stuck in my craw. Stubbornly, I wanted to stand my ground.

But, as Gran used to say, there was such a thing as too stubborn.

This wasn't about Eric. It was about Quinn. If Eric wasn't in the picture, if Quinn had asked me to move just to be with him, would I be hesitating?

No.

After all my soul searching in England I knew I still wanted a marriage, a partnership. Quinn was a chance at that. Whatever was missing with Sam, that spark, I knew I had that with Quinn. I wanted him, and not because I was lonely and he was the only candidate in line.

And the biggest mistake I'd made with Sam was putting barely half my heart into it. Holding back had sabotaged any hope of something more growing from our friendship.

I wouldn't repeat that. I wouldn't hold back. If I wanted Quinn, I was going all in.

Memphis it was.

When I announced my decision, Quinn finally gave me the enthusiastic response I'd expected earlier. He kissed me stupid right there in front of Amelia and I let him. What can I say? The man had skills.

Over coffee, my blush fading and my heart rate settling back to normal, Quinn raised the next hurdle. Technically, I was an asset of Louisiana. Eric's asset.

I said a few unladylike words about that. Quinn couldn't care less, but if he was seen to be poaching, spiriting me out of the state, it gave Eric ammunition to appeal to Tennessee for my return. It would be harder for Eric to do that if leaving looked like my idea.

I was fine with that. It _was_ my idea. Quinn wasn't forcing me.

I worried Tennessee might decide I should be his asset instead. Quinn assured me that was unlikely, and he'd never let it happen. I'd be his woman, and he was confident Tennessee wouldn't challenge that, him being so well-known in the twoey community and all. The only problem Quinn saw was Eric.

Amelia too – who was imagining Eric going on a bloody rampage after I left.

I couldn't see that happening. Sure, sticking it to Eric by leaving Louisiana would piss him off, but he was pragmatic. And hadn't he been the one to send me that message about making my life my own? Once I was out of his reach he would see reason, and leave me be. My only real fear was that he might make it difficult for me to visit Bon Temps.

Both Quinn and Amelia were adamant that Eric would stop me leaving if he got wind of our plans. Quinn's forceful arguments and Amelia's fears for me persuaded me I should keep it secret.

From almost everyone.

Quinn didn't want even Jason to know until I was safely away, but there was no way I could skip town on my brother and Michele without a word. I insisted they could be trusted.

There were two other people in Bon Temps I planned to tell. What Quinn didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

I reckoned it would take me a week to tie up loose ends. Quinn gave me an untraceable cell phone so I could keep in touch, as Pam had access to mine. We brainstormed a foolproof way to give my guards the slip. Once we had a workable plan Quinn left, taking the shortest route out of Eric's territory, up through Slidell and into Mississippi.

Amelia took me up to her 'playroom' before we turned in. Not the sort of playroom I'd imagined at all, it was where Amelia and Bob experimented with magic. There were ominous stains on the bare wooden floor and I was careful not to look too closely at the pale withered things in jars on the shelves. Thankfully the pretty blue and silver dragonfly brooch she fetched out of a cabinet looked perfectly ordinary. She hadn't tested it so she couldn't guarantee it worked, but it was better than nothing and she was good at what she did. Mostly.

I tried not to think of Bob, stuck as a cat for months.

When I left the next morning, Amelia hugged me tight and said, "Good luck, Sookie. And remember, Rosa said the difficult path would bring you joy._"_

"You know I don't hold with that mumbo-jumbo, Ames. I hope things work out with Bob and the baby."

"I hope so too," she said wistfully, and then brightened. "They will. Rosa said they would. She's never wrong."

That was Amelia, always convinced she was right. I was jealous of her confidence. She waved cheerfully as I drove away and I said a silent prayer of thanks for our rekindled friendship.

…

It was a strange week, back in Bon Temps.

I made sure to see Kennedy, Penny and Holly. Coffee, a couple of lunch dates in town. It was hard to act normal. Kennedy picked up something was wrong, but she put it down to frustration over losing the job in Minden. Not guilt over my big secret.

Bill turned up one night. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and the woods were too muddy for a stroll in the dark. He was polite, we chatted for a few minutes, and he left without pressing for more.

I even spoke to Melissa, who phoned out of the blue to check how I was doing. I was touched, but I certainly couldn't let her in on my plans.

Under the guise of normal errands, I returned my library books and visited the bank. Years ago, when I opened my first account Gran told me to pick a national bank, hoping I would get the chance to travel one day. That had finally paid off. Transferring my accounts to Memphis was easy as pie.

Serving Margaret and Jack lemonade on the porch, I casually mentioned I was having a clear out. That night, with the drapes closed, I began packing, hiding suitcases and boxes out of sight in closets and under beds. To complete the illusion I labelled few boxes of junk 'goodwill' and put them out on the porch the next morning.

I put off telling Jason as long as I could, until Thursday. Daytime. My twoey guards had supe hearing, but I could 'hear' them too, check they weren't listening.

Telling him and Michele was hard. I made it sound temporary, a trial move for a few months. Michele stayed quiet, watching Jason. He was dismayed. He remembered Quinn and he remembered him not being around much.

"You've only just got back. He should be the one moving here."

"His job is in Memphis. He travels all over. It wouldn't be fair, Jason."

He pulled out all the stops. "You got family here. What about Marie Adele and Jay-Jay? They need you Sook."

I'd been steeling myself for that guilt trip, but I still had to blink hard. "I'll visit, I promise." Eric better not make a liar out of me, or I'd stake him myself. "And I'll phone and write."

He crossed his arms. "Quinn got family? Bet he keeps them close."

I shook my head. "Only his mom and sister. They're in New Mexico." I didn't count Tijgerin and mentioning their son would only give Jason more ammunition.

He glowered and raised his chin belligerently. "He's got a reputation. From the pits. He's no good for you. You can't–"

Hands on my hips, I snapped back, "I'm a grown woman, Jason Stackhouse. You can't tell me what to do."

"Oh can't I? I'm the head of this family. I gotta do what Gran would do. And that–"

"Is ask if Quinn makes you happy," Michele interrupted forcefully, her hand tightening on Jason's arm.

I took a deep breath and blew it out so I could speak evenly. "Yes, Michele. He does."

She nodded. "Good. You can't live your life for our kids. You gotta chase your own happiness." Her firm tone took the wind out of Jason's sails. I dropped my hands from my hips and Jason shut his mouth. She added, "You sure about moving all that way for him?"

"Uh-huh. Things will be difficult if I stay here." They looked at each other, confused. I explained, "Now Eric is in charge of Louisiana."

Jason frowned. "You don't have anything to do with deaders no more."

"No." Except for Pam. "But Eric won't see it like that."

"He won't show his face round here. He'll be down in New Orleans."

I spelt it out. "Jason, he can make it impossible for Quinn to visit Bon Temps."

Michele looked to Jason for an explanation. Jason blinked at me for a moment. For once, he was the one who said something shrewd.

"That don't make no sense. Kings got more important things to do than stalk exes. And that Pam protected you the whole time you been with Sam. Don't seem like Northman cares who you're with to me. Unless he just don't like Quinn."

Oh. There was a thought. When I left Eric in the dust to go on my first date with Quinn, I sensed there was more to their rivalry than me. And that would explain why Quinn was so sure he'd be banned, why Eric would give a crap when he had a kingdom to run and plenty of other women to chase.

But Jason's insight changed nothing. Moving would take me out of it. I had zero desire to be a pawn in their stupid feud. I was nobody's trophy.

"Jason, regardless of what Eric does, I'm going," I said firmly. "And that's that."

Jason grumbled some more, but he could see my mind was made. Michele kept him from saying anything unforgivable and eventually he settled down enough to listen to my plan.

"Of course I'll help," he said indignantly. "You're my sister."

…

That night I called my lawyer. I hadn't discussed that with Quinn, but I wanted to sound Mr Cataliades out all same. Carefully.

He'd worked for Sophie-Ann, then de Castro, and now, I assumed, for Eric. Contacting him was risky. I was his god-daughter of sorts, but I wasn't sure Mr C could be loyal to me over Eric, who was probably paying him a significant sum to look after his interests.

Fortunately, Mr C couldn't read my mind over the phone.

I pretended I'd called for the investment advice he'd offered me during the divorce. We had a long dull discussion about money and then, as we were winding down, I casually asked my real question.

"Oh, before I forget, I'm thinking of taking a trip out of state. A girlfriend of mine has family up in St Louis and she invited me along. She hates to fly alone. Will that be a problem with the vamps up there?"

He paused long enough for me to wonder if he'd already seen through me. I'd picked a fake destination, one in Amun and about as far as Memphis, but Mr C was shrewd and Diantha had seen me with Quinn.

"Hmm," he said finally. "You have three kings and a queen in your corner in Amun. Technically their protection only holds in their kingdoms, but it should give you a modicum of safety in Missouri."

"I don't really know how that all works," I said, fishing for more.

"Generally speaking, most monarchs would be ill-advised to go against four peers in the same clan. Missouri would not wish to upset Iowa, for instance. You should be safe as long as you are not in his state over long."

"How long is too long?" Damn. I'd hinted at my true plans.

"Any longer than a few months and Missouri may expect you to work for him, become his asset. Unfortunately, after Rhodes–"

"Everybody knows my name."

"Many are aware of you, yes. Some monarchs do not care whose toes they tread on. You must be cautious." The tone of his voice told me he suspected something, but he wasn't asking, and I wasn't telling. So far, so good. Eric couldn't be mad at him if he didn't know my plans for sure.

"Oh, it's only for a week," I said, hoping to make him think I was just paying Quinn a clandestine visit. "That'll be okay, right?"

"Yes, probably," he said, sounding mollified.

Good. I pumped him for more. "I never understood the asset thing. What exactly does that entail?"

"Anything from an ad hoc informal arrangement to a full contract. Basically, the asset provides talent in exchange for protection, sometimes payment. How favourable the arrangement is depends on the asset's bargaining power."

"Uh-huh." I read him loud and clear: hold all the cards when you negotiate with vamps. "And if, hypothetically, I became a vampire's asset?"

"You would be tied to them and their state. Such an arrangement is best entered into your eyes open," he warned.

I said with some sarcasm, "You don't say."

Eric claiming me as an asset behind my back irked me no end, but I knew trampling all over my right to date and travel freely was only the thin end of the wedge. I had no wish to experience worse at the hands of vampires whose idea of 'claiming an asset' included kidnap and slavery. Thankfully, Tennessee didn't seem to be that type.

Echoing my thoughts Mr C added gravely, "Some vampires would have no qualms about your willingness to enter such an arrangement. A word of advice, my dear. Vampires are slippery. It would be prudent to involve me if this hypothetical situation becomes real."

"I'll bear that in mind if it comes up." Not likely, I had no intention of becoming anyone's asset, and I planned to stay off the undead radar in Memphis.

…

Friday was wet. I popped into Tara's Togs during a convenient downpour. Margaret and Jack couldn't hear a thing parked outside, but as it turned out Tara took my news quietly.

"Quinn, the big bald guy?" Tara wasn't really listening. She was exhausted; the twins had kept her up two nights in a row and she was worried about Sarah, who had a stomach bug and was home with JB.

"Uh-huh. We're dating again. I have a real good feeling about it." I had been in two minds about telling her, but I wanted take her into my confidence one last time in honour of our long friendship, as moving away probably spelt the end of it.

"Oh, that's nice."

That was underwhelming. "Don't tell anybody. I don't want to jinx it."

She shrugged. "Okay, Sook." _Who am I going to tell? All I do is work and go home. JB and the twins ain't interested._

At that point I remembered the deep-seated envy she felt whenever my life seemed more exciting than hers. Her secret fear that I would up and leave was about to come true and I didn't want our parting conversation to be full of anger. Chickening out, I didn't tell her the rest.

"So, you have anything for a hot date?" I asked, flicking through a rack of dresses.

"Oh, sure." She fetched some pretty summer dresses and we chatted for a while like we usually did. I bought more than I intended out of guilt, but I didn't say anything else. Michele would fill Tara and the others in once I was safely away.

Tara was the only one I'd told about Quinn. That would have to show enough loyalty for her.

That lunchtime, acting on more guilt, I cajoled Jack and Margaret in out of the rain to eat lunch with me in the kitchen. It was the least I could do; I was putting them out of work.

Jack was a sweet boy underneath his macho attempts to act the grown man, attempts hampered by the decidedly chauvinistic role-models Hotshot provided. I was going to miss them both, and the way Margaret 'mothered' him with a slap upside the head every time he said something dumb about women. But a girl had think of her own happiness.

That afternoon, in weather fit to drown frogs, I paid a visit to Merlotte's. I owed Sam a goodbye, and a part of me hoped he'd offer to deal with Eric if he turned up in Bon Temps and threw a fit after I'd gone.

I dashed across the lot with my raincoat over my head. Shaking it out by the door, I noticed the place was real quiet. Stephanie was sitting behind the bar, reading a magazine and sipping a drink. Smiling brightly, I gave her a cheerful hello.

"You here for a late lunch?" she asked.

"Um, no. I need a word with Sam."

"Of course. No-one comes here to eat," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

She gestured at a customer. "He's been nursing that beer for an hour."

"Oh." I pulled a face. "Slow day, huh?"

"Very."

"Things are picking up though?"

She shrugged. "Some. It'll take a while." She gave me a sly look. "Longer if Bernie frightens the customers off again."

I hedged. "Oh. Um. She's…" Was it disloyal to criticise Bernie now we weren't officially related?

Stephanie's carefully plucked eyebrows lifted. "A piece of work, that one. You must be tougher than you look to survive three years of her."

"I am."

Her mouth raised in a half-smile. "Any tips?"

I couldn't tell if she meant to be hostile or friendly. I met her look steadily and said drily, "You'll be fine. You've got the right pedigree."

She grinned wryly. "Maybe not for Sam."

I didn't reply. They'd been arguing last time I came to Merlotte's and I didn't want to know what was going on between them. Stephanie had other ideas.

"Bernie sure did a number on him. First time I've been accused of kissing a man because his mother put me up to it."

"Oh." An image of her and Sam in a passionate embrace popped into my head, supplied by my own imagination for once. It made me extremely uncomfortable. The amused glint in her hazel eyes told me Stephanie didn't mind my discomfort one bit.

Looking me over, she said, "Maybe that was the attraction, knowing Bernie would never approve. He was rebelling."

I shrugged. "You better hope he's over that phase, or you're plum out of luck."

She laughed, breaking the tension. "Well, if he doesn't pull his head out of his ass soon, it'll be his loss. He's in his office."

"Thanks." I'd just passed a test, I reckoned. Not that we'd be bosom buddies any time soon, even if I did meet with her approval, but at least I didn't need to watch my back for another jealous twoey bitch.

I paused outside the office to check no-one was snooping. Margaret and Jack weren't close enough to hear over the rain. Bless the bad weather. I knocked, and went in when Sam yelled.

"Sookie," he said, startled, hastily standing up.

"Hi Sam."

A few minutes later he was saying, "Quinn? For real?"

He was astonished rather than angry, which astonished me in turn. Sam did not have warm feelings towards my weretiger honey, never had. In fact the last time Quinn turned up Sam took offence at him, his scent and him breathing the same air as me.

Not all of that was fairy magic.

"Yes, Quinn," I repeated. "I wanted you to hear it from me."

"He found his way back here pretty damn quick."

"Not really. I bumped into him in New Orleans."

"And you want me to play nice if I see him round town."

"Actually … that's not real likely." There was a bonus I hadn't considered: moving would make this a lot easier on Sam. And I'd avoid any drama with the Bon Temps morality police for dating so soon after our divorce. "I'm moving to Memphis."

Sam leant back in his chair with a puzzled look. "You're leaving Louisiana?"

"Yep."

"I don't think that's a good idea, cher."

I sat up straighter and said warningly, "It's not your decision to make."

His mouth tightened in disapproval and he muttered, "Sure ain't, or you wouldn't be going anywhere with that asshole."

There was the reaction I expected. I kept a lid on my temper as best I could, but my tone was sharp. "Quinn is a good man. I'm not asking for your approval."

He said hotly, "Good, because I'm not giving it. I hope you know what the hell you're getting into. What did Pam say about this?"

What the hell? Since when did Sam think I should run anything by her? I snapped, "I don't need Pam's permission. The damn vampires don't run my life, Sam."

"Better hope the ones in Tennessee got that memo," he said darkly. "Is she sending some guards at least?"

"No! And don't you dare tell Pam about this."

Sam frowned. "Why not?"

Shit. I'd counted on Sam being only too happy to keep my secret from the vamps. Quinn would be mad as hell if I'd ruined things by spilling the beans to my ex-husband. He thought I was only telling Jason.

Clamping down on my panic, I tried to appear calm. "I'll tell Pam. When I'm ready."

Familiar blue eyes searched my face. He knew something was wrong. "What's going on, cher?"

"Nothing," I said, too quickly.

"Sure," he snorted. He ran his hand through his hair. Then, quietly, he said the one thing guaranteed to tug on my heart. "I thought we were still friends, Sook."

We eyed each other for a long minute.

I sighed heavily. "Promise me you won't say a word to Pam."

"I won't. I promise."

He meant it. I felt bad peeking, but I checked all the same. "It won't be long before she finds out anyway. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" He was stunned.

"Yep." I added, "Thanks for telling me Eric was king, by the way."

He was still processing his shock. Carelessly he asked, "How d'you miss that? Didn't Jason tell you?"

"Nope. We don't talk about that stuff."

"It was big news last spring. Died down before you got back, though." He frowned. "That got something to do with you leaving?"

"Yes. Eric will ban Quinn from Louisiana."

"What's Quinn done now?"

"Nothing! Eric will do it just to keep us apart."

I got one of those clear flashes from Sam: _Might not be such a bad idea._ All he said aloud was: "You sure 'bout that?"

"Yes," I said crossly. "Quinn said Eric would–"

He interrupted. "You haven't spoken to Eric?"

"No. He doesn't know about Quinn and me. And I want it kept that way, Sam Merlotte."

"Then how d'you know Eric will ban him?" Sam rated Quinn's theories as highly as he rated the tiger himself.

Exasperated, I threw up my hands. "It's not like Eric hasn't done it before. He's king, his word is law. He's ruling with an iron fist, just ask Amelia. And I'm one of his damn assets."

"Really?" Sam frowned pensively. "That sends a message to other kingdoms, though. Keeps you safe."

My jaw fell open. I'd fallen down the damn rabbit hole. In what parallel universe did Sam take Eric's side?

"Are you kidding me? I'm nobody's flipping asset, least of all Eric's."

Sam shrugged. "Could be worse. I know diddly-squat about Tennessee. Better the devil you know."

Well, flabber my gast.

Maybe to Sam, Eric _was_ the better devil. Better than Quinn, because Eric was the past and Quinn was my future, a future that would take me out of Sam's orbit. Boy, Sam's nose was really bent out of joint. Just what I needed: two possessive exes trying to run my life.

Quinn was my choice. They could both stick that where the sun don't shine.

"I'm not an idiot Sam. I'll have protection." I asked suspiciously, "Why the heck are you defending Eric?"

That pulled him up short. He rubbed his neck and mumbled, "He's decent enough, for a deader." _More decent than I deserved after I treated him like shit._

"Sure, Sam, real convincing. What's he got over you?"

"Nothing. He helped out with the bar, is all." He shifted uneasily, refusing to meet my eyes.

I focused on his thoughts, and an angry scene played out in his mind with a clarity I rarely got from Sam. I was stunned by what I saw, but by the time Sam looked up at me, I'd hidden my shock.

"Sookie, this isn't about Eric. It's you I'm worried about. Promise me you'll be careful." His eyes were pleading.

I sighed. "Sure, Sam. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

I stood up to leave and he hugged me real quick.

"If Quinn makes you happy..." He tried to hide his doubts about that. "I hope it works out. Take care, Sook."

"You too, Sam. Don't be too hard on Stephanie. You can't afford to lose another book-keeper, not one who actually likes you."

I left him gaping after me.

Outside, in my car, I replayed what I'd seen in Sam's head, my hands tightening on the steering wheel. The memory had been coloured with Sam's fury and it had my adrenaline pumping.

It was small comfort to discover that Sam hadn't followed me to Fangtasia the night he'd lost it after smelling Eric on me. No, he'd gone there to confront Eric, yelling and threatening him over the 'blood offence' Eric had committed _against Sam_ by saving my life.

Not against me, against Sam. Because I was his property, that 'mine' attitude I hated so much. Sam even threatened to go to de Castro. The vicious, spiteful things he said to Eric … Hell, he'd even told Eric that we'd had sex two days after he left for Oklahoma.

I was mortified. And furious.

But the man I'd just spoken to wasn't the person who'd said those things, and he felt a healthy dose of shame remembering them. It was Sam under the influence of fairy magic. It would do neither of us any good to fight about it now.

Having no outlet for my anger, I breathed deeply until I felt calm.

Like Eric. In Sam's memory, he had been infuriatingly and icily calm in the face of Sam's attempts to provoke him. I wondered, though. I wondered if Sam's hurtful words hadn't eaten away at Eric's pride, leading him to ask all those questions about Sam and me.

I shook myself. No use speculating about either of them. They were the past. Quinn was my future.

…

The next day was hot and humid. Perfect. I'd chosen Saturday to make my move because Margaret and Jack weren't on duty – I didn't want to get my friends in trouble. Early that morning I invited the two hard-bitten wolves from Longtooth onto the front porch for some iced tea, as I'd done a couple of times before when it was a hot day.

Except this time their drinks had an extra kick, thanks to Amelia.

Half an hour later they were passed out in the woods. They would wake up around sunset with no idea where I'd gone. I checked they were in the shade, and then called Jason, who'd already been over once so the wolves wouldn't cotton on to his involvement from his scent.

Looking at my car as I waited for him to show, I sighed wistfully. I couldn't take it or my phone. As Pam had so helpfully told me, I could be tracked with them.

An anonymous rental truck bounced down the drive and Jason jumped out. We wasted no time loading the vehicle with everything I'd packed. I rescinded almost everyone's invitations, locked up the house and handed Jason the keys. He hugged me for a long minute before loping off into the woods.

I got into the rental, making sure I had Amelia's dragonfly brooch pinned to my blouse. Apparently a sample of my hair was enough to locate me magically. Some witches could even use less personal items. The brooch should prevent anyone tracking me that way, so I planned to wear it for a week or two.

I looked at the house for a long moment before I set off.

I stopped once, in Monroe, to express mail a letter. That wasn't in the plan, but it was something I had to do. Quinn would just have to deal.

Then I headed north into Arkansas, feeling tense. Quinn said Red Rita was in cahoots with Eric these days. I breathed easier once I crossed Old Man River into Russell's state. I drove north again, too keyed-up to stop. About an hour from Memphis I turned off the highway into Clarksdale.

Quinn was waiting right where he said he would be, outside a barbecue place. I jumped out of the truck and into his arms. Grinning broadly, he lifted me up and spun me round.

"Babe, I can't believe you're here."

"Me neither." I couldn't stop grinning.

I handed him the keys and we crossed into Tennessee with Quinn at the wheel.

...

* * *

><p>Don't throw anything at the wall! I don't want dead electronics on my conscience. But rant away in the reviews - I can take it ;-)<p>

A lot of you wanted Sookie out of Bon Temps... so there's that. Bit of a surprise the way it happened though, and you know it's not going to be plain sailing.

Next chapter we get Eric's reaction.


	14. Memphis

Hi everybody. Slight change of plan. I decided the next two chapters worked better switched around.

But I promised you all Eric next.

So... Bonus! Two chapters today.

* * *

><p><strong>Memphis<strong>

* * *

><p>Memphis was huge. As we drove through the outskirts I cycled from trepidation to excitement and back a dozen times. The pleasant, tree-lined streets of Quinn's neighbourhood soothed my nerves. We pulled into his drive and I undid my seatbelt slowly, smiling at his house.<p>

Quinn saw my face and chuckled quietly. "You like it, babe?"

"Looks great." The house was cute: two stories of red brick, white window frames, a slate roof, and a triple garage. Large shade trees grew in the backyard.

That wasn't what had me grinning.

My biggest fear – that it would be impossible to find the mental solitude I needed from time to time – had evaporated. Quinn lived in a quiet street opposite a huge park. His house was on the corner plot. There was only one neighbour within range. It was perfect.

I guess I had his dual nature to thank for that. Twoeys liked open spaces, hence the one on Quinn's doorstep.

Inside the house was a sharp contrast to its outside. Modern. Clean lines. Uncluttered. Very… masculine. A huge entertainment centre took up a whole wall in the den. I eyed it, wondering how complicated the remote was. I could see decking through the patio doors, and a grill.

Quinn gave me the tour, my hand in his warm grip. The hardwood floors were all level, and the kitchen was lovely. I took the second of three bedrooms, right across from his. He ordered takeout and we unpack some of my boxes while we waited for it. After food, wine and some canoodling on the couch, it was time to turn in. We separated awkwardly to our own rooms.

It had been a week since I'd seen him. I got changed and then stood shyly in his doorway, in my cutest, shortest pyjama set. He rumbled in appreciation when he saw me, and demonstrated his enthusiasm not once, but twice, with a vigour that I didn't mind knowing was partly due to the imminent full moon.

His thoughts were simple. _Yes. Please. Again._ They didn't bother me. I fell asleep in his arms.

…

Sunday morning we cooked breakfast together as if we'd done it for years.

I took the hired truck back, Quinn following in the blue Civic he insisted on loaning me until I got my own car. We drove around downtown so I could get my bearings, then ate lunch at the Oak Court mall. No-one knew me, I was anonymous in the crowd. My telepathy behaved just fine, and we browsed the stores until Quinn got restless.

After living with Sam I understood. It was just bad luck that I'd arrived right before the one night he had to shift.

Quinn was apologetic about leaving me alone, but I shooed him off to Shelby Farms. He said he usually ran there or in the wild areas along the Mississippi, out past Fuller State Park – better, bigger places to roam than the city parks, where a tiger would make headlines.

I didn't mind Quinn leaving. I was as safe as houses at his place. As safe as warded houses: Quinn took precautions like most important twoeys did since the Chosen began targeting them. I wasn't going to be much company anyway. After the excitement and the journey from Bon Temps, I was wiped. I actually had a pleasant evening, alone but able to sense the neighbours whenever I wanted. After the isolation of Gran's house, that was comforting.

It gave me a real good feeling about the life I was planning to carve out in Memphis. I fell asleep easily, in my own bed so Quinn wouldn't disturb me when he came back.

He was tired but relaxed the next morning, a state I recognised as due to a release of the jittery pre-moon tension twoeys suffered. Shifter PMT as I had privately named Sam's cyclical agitation, not that I ever said that to Sam. Smiling at Quinn over my coffee, I reckoned he might appreciate the joke being more at ease with what he was.

We talked about the upcoming week. Quinn had to work, but I convinced him I didn't need a bunch of werewolves following me everywhere, figuring from what Mr C said I had a few weeks grace.

The first few days in Memphis were exciting, strange and busy.

Four boxes stayed packed in the corner of my room, reminding Quinn our living arrangements weren't permanent, no matter how much I enjoyed sharing his bed whenever I wanted. I explored the neighbourhood, found grocery stores and the library. Its size pleased me even though I couldn't join yet. I needed a place to live and a job before I could get a Tennessee driving license. Quinn shook his head when he came home to find the real estate pages spread across the kitchen counter, but he knew better than to suggest I could stay with him.

Braving the downtown traffic on Friday, I checked out the college. The advisor I spoke to was harried and far less encouraging than the lovely Carol at LSU, and there was a snag. I was right up against the deadline for fall registration. Classes started in a few weeks. Disappointed, I grabbed some brochures and promised myself I would register for the spring semester as soon as I was settled.

I called Michele when I got back to Quinn's. Jay-Jay was sick with the stomach bug going round Bon Temps. The tiredness in Michele's voice made me wish I was there to help out. I wallowed in homesickness until Quinn got back, early, with flowers. He told me to dress up because he was taking me out for dinner.

…

Quinn finished his very rare steak and wiped his mouth with a napkin, sighing happily. He'd boasted Marcie's served the best steak in Memphis on the drive over. He grinned at the matronly dark-haired woman across the restaurant, Marcie herself I gathered. She smiled back. Quinn was a regular. Figured.

"Babe, you okay?" he asked.

I'd been too quiet for Quinn's liking, I realised. "I'm just a little tired," I said to excuse it.

"Maybe you need an early night." His eyes were twinkling.

I smiled. "Maybe."

"I'd like that," he said, smiling too. "I'll be right back."

He squeezed my hand and got up, turning towards the restrooms. Marcie looked me over curiously once he was gone. I smiled tightly at her and turned my attention to the last mouthful of my lobster. It was delicious. Marcie's was a nice place. With its deep red walls and subdued lighting, the intimate atmosphere was perfect for a date.

It was ridiculous to feel put out because Quinn hadn't warned me it was a twoey place.

Well, not exclusively. There were human customers but still… Marcie and most of the wait staff were twoeys. I should have been prepared, but I was used to Sam, who was about as interested in supe stuff as I was.

I winced. I should really stop comparing Quinn to my ex-husband. That was a guaranteed way to ruin things.

"A penny for your thoughts, fair maid," said a male voice, startling me out of my thoughts.

I looked up into clear blue eyes and a very handsome face. A pale face. Vampire.

I glanced around. No-one was paying attention. Marcie was clearing a table and avoiding my eyes.

"Tiger got your tongue?" the vampire said, glancing towards the restrooms. The corner of his mouth twitched, tickled by his own joke. He pulled a chair over from a nearby table, set it backwards and sat gracefully astride it, resting his arms loosely on the back. We regarded each other silently.

He was a tall cool drink of water, poured into jeans and a plain t-shirt under an open leather jacket. He had black hair, fashionable stubble and piercing eyes under fine arched eyebrows. Dangerously handsome, and I could tell he knew it. His swagger reminded me of another arrogant vampire.*

I wished I'd ordered the garlic bread.

He tilted his head, running his gaze over me. "All this fuss. I'm not seeing it."

I eyed his jacket. "Me either."

"Feisty. I like that."

Great. Just what I needed, another vampire chasing my tail. Better kill that notion dead in its tracks.

"I don't date dead men." Not any more.

He raised his eyebrows, a devastating half-smirk curling his mouth. "That's not what I heard, petal."

He knew me. Shit. Who sent him? What did he want?

Behind him, Quinn emerged from the back corridor and I started to relax. But then he spotted the vampire at our table. His eyebrows rose in shock, and his face darkened briefly, but he put on an unconcerned expression and walked unhurriedly over.

I tuned in to him. His nonchalance was hiding real concern.

_Babe,_ he sent. _That's Tennessee. Let me deal with him._

The king? Double shit. I kept my expression as calm as I could. So much for staying off the radar. I hadn't even been in Memphis a week.

Quinn nodded to the vampire as he sat down, stretching his legs out. "Tennessee. I didn't know you were in town. Do you need something?"

"I came to meet the lass here." There was a faint trace of an accent. Not the same Pam's, but definitely English.

Quinn asked flatly, "Why?"

"I had a visitor. Northman says you've been pilfering his silver."

I fumed silently. Eric sure hadn't wasted any time chasing after his damn _asset_. Guess I was wrong about him being practical and seeing sense. Guess he'd changed his mind about me living my own life too.

"Not his silver in the first place," Quinn rumbled. "And she came to me."

"That _is_ interesting. Of her own accord? " He turned those blue, blue eyes onto me. "Care to confirm that?"

"With pleasure," I said drily.

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes cold and searching. "There is no vampire blood in you."

I blinked. He could tell? That was a new ability on me, and extremely rude.

Quinn growled quietly. "She's a free woman. My woman."

I shot him a look that said we'd be speaking about that pronoun later, but I let it slide for now.

Tennessee shrugged. "I had to check Northman had no blood claim."

"You have your rules." Quinn nodded at the room, alerting me to the fact several twoeys were watching our conversation with interest. "We have ours."

Tennessee nodded. "And so we get along peacefully. For the most part." He turned to me. Studying my reaction closely he added, "Vampires are possessive creatures. Especially when they have been… intimately tied to someone. Northman was insistent. He wants you back."

"He can whistle," I said. Firmly. I could be just as insistent as Eric.

He turned to Quinn, cutting me out of the conversation. "He may try to take her."

"He can try," Quinn said with a glint in his eyes.

"Northman has a whole state behind him," Tennessee warned. He paused and I had a hunch I wasn't going to like what was coming. "If you need my assistance, we could come to… an arrangement."

Before Quinn could reply, I butted in, asking sharply, "What sort of arrangement?"

The vampire stared unwaveringly into my eyes. "You have a rare talent, lass. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. We all get along. That's how I run things in my state."

Oh hell.

"Now if you'll excuse me…" He got up smoothly and walked off, leaving his chair where it was and me swallowing my anger.

Across the table, Quinn was a roiling mess of bitter disappointment and anger himself. Before either of us could say anything, Marcie appeared and tucked Tennessee's chair back under the next table as if nothing had happened.

"I thought you didn't like deaders." Quinn snarled at her, his voice low and accusatory.

Marcie turned round to face him. "He asked for a few minutes to speak to you. Didn't see the harm. You work for deaders, don't you?"

Quinn glared. "I work for Special Events, not Tennessee. You tell him we were going to be here?"

Marcie shook her head. "He already knew. Called right after you arrived." She glanced around the room as if to point out anyone could have told him.

I was about to poke around in some heads when Quinn swore under his breath, pulled out his wallet and announced, "We're leaving, babe."

Marcie stopped him. "Dinner's on me. Least I can do." Her tone was regretful. Quinn was a customer she didn't want to lose.

…

The drive home was tense. Quinn didn't say I told you so. Not aloud.

He didn't need to. Dammit, I'd been so certain Eric would be reasonable, so sure I'd gotten away scot-free. Well, Quinn and Amelia were absolutely right. Eric would never have left us alone if I'd stayed in Louisiana.

Quinn muttered that we were fools to think Eric wouldn't come after me, that he should have got me guards.

My conscience pricked. I'd taken advantage of Quinn's easy post-moon mood to convince him I didn't need any. Not that one more prick added much to the bed of nails my conscience had been lying on since we left Marcie's.

It was my fault Eric had found out so soon.

That letter, the one I'd sent from Monroe. To Pam, explaining my abrupt disappearance, begging her not to tell Eric where I was.

She was my friend. I trusted her.

She had betrayed me.

I was furious with her, with myself. I should have listened to Quinn, never told her. Her loyalty was to her maker every damn time. I'd been naive to think otherwise.

I was still stewing when we got to Quinn's.

Grim and determined, I checked the street with my extra sense, but nobody was around who shouldn't be. Once we were safely inside, Quinn growled that he'd get me as many guards as it took, that we wouldn't need Tennessee's help. I nodded dumbly, too angry over the mistake I'd made to answer.

He made some calls, calls that had him pacing the kitchen like … Well, like a tiger caged in too small a space. Feeling awful, I made myself scarce, going up to my room to change. Distracted by the rumble of Quinn's indistinct voice, I got as far as sitting on the bed and taking off my heels.

What a mess.

I saw right through Tennessee's weasel words. An 'arrangement', my ass. More like me becoming his asset. I thought briefly of calling Mr C, but Eric probably had him working on getting me returned to Louisiana. I didn't want to put the half-demon in an impossible position.

I'd bought enough trouble to Quinn's door.

I wished to God that I hadn't. I wanted to stake Eric. I bet Tennessee hadn't even known I was here until he stuck his oar in. Too unsettled to sit still, too upset to stick to a task, I flitted around the room straightening the bed, picking up my book only to put it down again, staring blankly at the doorway.

Until Quinn filled it, jacket discarded, shirt open at the neck, eyes blazing.

He strode towards me and I met him halfway. His lips crashed against mine and I kissed him back with all the pent up frustration and anger I was feeling. Without breaking our lip-lock, he backed me across the room, pulling my hair out of the twist I'd put it in hours earlier. Hairpins scattered around us, my yelp swallowed by his hungry mouth.

My back pressed against something hard and he pulled back to growl, "He can't have you."

His large hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the dresser. As he pushed my dress up to my hips, I undid his shirt. The last few buttons went flying in my haste to pull it open when his hands landed on the girls, kneading them urgently. My hands went to his belt and his fisted in my hair, tugging my head roughly to the side as our mouths met again. A few seconds later he tugged my panties aside, and pushed into me. It was fast and rough, and if it was fuelled by our mutual spite for another man, I didn't care. It was no less satisfying for that.

…

I woke up sore from Quinn's attentions. He stirred besides me, muttering in his sleep. I slipped out of bed and grabbed my robe, a woman on a mission. Half an hour later I woke him up.

"Hi there, sleepyhead," I said softly.

He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Mmm. Something smells good."

"I figured you'd be hungry." I moved a little so he could see the tray I'd brought up. It was the least I could do after all the trouble I was causing him. "How does sausage, biscuits and gravy grab you?"

"Just perfect," he said, kissing me on the cheek. His stomach growled and I laughed.

"You better eat before that thing gets out."

And eat he did, every last bit of it while I sipped my coffee, pleased beyond measure that he was enjoying my cooking. Once he finished, I looked at the clock. I'd arranged to visit some apartments in an hour.

"We'd better get a wriggle on if we're going to make the realtor's on time."

"About that, babe," he began cautiously.

A minute later my blissful mood was gone, and we were engaged in a heated… discussion. Quinn wanted me to stay with him until the threat from Eric had receded. I disagreed.

Frustrated, he snapped, "It would make it a hell of a lot easier to keep you safe." _Why won't she see sense?_

Worry creased his forehead, and his fear washed over me. I relented bad-temperedly. "Fine. But it's only temporary."

Sulking, I stomped downstairs to call the realtor and cancel, pissed all over again at Eric and the vampire bullshit that dogged me even here. Quinn wasn't in my room when I went back upstairs, and his door was shut. Grumbling to myself, I hopped in the shower to wash away my surly mood. Alone.

Afterwards, I found Quinn watching some mindless sitcom in the den. Leaning over the couch, I kissed his head softly.

"Hey. Sorry about that."

He tipped his head back to look at me. "Me too. We good?"

"Yeah." I leaned over further and kissed his lips. His hand went to my neck.

When I pulled back, a movement caught the corner of my eye. Outside, through the patio doors. I looked up sharply, extending more than sight in that direction.

Behind the garage a darker shadow flowed within the shade from the trees. A shadow with a snarly mind. I got to the patio doors in time to catch a glimpse of it breaking cover, crossing a patch of sunlight to slink off Quinn's property towards the road.

Black, sleek, powerful. A long tail.

Quinn came up behind me, peering over my shoulder. "You see something, Sook?"

"Those packs you called last night, did they send a …" I wasn't entirely sure what I'd just seen. "A big black cat?"

"Stay here," he ordered and shouldered past me. He padded out into the yard, scenting the air. He was back in a second, closing the doors behind him, grim-faced.

"Trouble?" I asked.

He nodded. Seeing my face fall, he patted my shoulder and said gruffly, "Nothing to do with you. This one's mine."

He strode out of the room. I followed, catching up to him on the front steps. A metallic blue limo with tinted windows wallowed up the driveway, old-fashioned and heavy, but gleaming in the sun. A heavyset man with copper-coloured skin and thick dark hair touched with grey at the temples got out of the back.

He was wearing shades, a pale linen suit paired with a pink shirt, and alligator shoes. He looked like he'd stepped out of an eighties gangster movie. He was Hispanic, I thought, and a twoey, which I knew for sure. His mind was focused, business-like.

Quinn folded his arms, his irritation poorly hidden. The man stopped in front of us and smiled at him. He spoke with a strong accent. "Buenos dias, Quinn. Mees Stackhouse."

"Corazón de las Montañas*," Quinn said stiffly, taking my hand. _Babe, this is Frannie's father-in-law. He's a… packmaster. A jaguar._

I squeezed his hand to let him know I'd heard and smiled at our visitor. "Won't you come in?"

He followed us inside, pocketing his shades. His eyes were a strange colour, rich amber with hints of red. Quinn led us into the front room, which was the least used in the house. The guy was family of sorts, but Quinn didn't want him in his private space. Our guest declined my offer of refreshments so I perched nervously next to Quinn, feeling the tension rolling off him.

Quinn got straight to the point. "Camargo. Why are you here? Is Frannie–"

"Ah, si, si, Frannie and your mama are well." Quinn relaxed immediately. "That is not why I come. I bring a message from El Viento de la Noche*."

Quinn frowned. "What does New Mexico want with me?"

New Mexico? The vampire?

"Ees an unlucky thing. Thees woman," he gestured at me, "El Viento ees interested in her."

We both stiffened. Wonderful. Another bloodsucking monarch after me.

"No, no." He raised his hands. "Not like that. She ees valuable, yes? Useful. Tennessee wants her. He has approached you already, si?"

We looked at each other. I nodded cautiously. I couldn't get a good read on our guest.

"El Viento does not want this. You must prevent it, tiger."

What the hell? Why did New Mexico care if Tennessee got his fangs into me?

Quinn picked up on the important word I missed. "Must?" he asked, his jaw clenching.

"Si. For Frannie's sake. For your mama."

Quinn's eyes flashed. "Are you threatening them?"

Camargo didn't flinch. "El Viento is fickle and bloodthirsty. If he does not get what he wants …" He spread his hands and shrugged.

I gasped. Frannie was this man's daughter-in-law, and he was just gonna shrug? I was used to vampires going straight for the throat to get what they wanted, but twoeys looked after their own.

Quinn scowled. "When Timas married Frannie he swore to me he'd look after her."

"We serve El Viento. Timas knows this. He cannot go against him."

Quinn shook his head, disgusted. "You never approved of her, did you?"

Camargo shrugged. "Timas is my fifth son. He will never lead. His mother begged me to let him have his choice of wife."

"Wait a minute," I said, finally catching up. "This El Viento, New Mexico. He gave me his protection."

He looked at me sadly. "Si. He gave to you. But not to Frannie or Mama Quinn."

Well damn.

Quinn reached over and squeezed my hand. _Don't worry, babe. He's only asking me to do what I was going to do anyway._

That was something at least, but I hated that his family were being threatened because of me. I glared at our visitor.

Quinn stood, pulling me to my feet. "You've delivered your message, Camargo."

"Okay," he said, standing up and replacing his shades. "Adiós, tiger."

After he'd gone, Quinn slumped on the couch, rubbing his head. "Fuck. What the hell was that? And how did you get New Mexico's protection?"

"I have no idea," I said honestly, sitting next to him. "So… that's Frannie's father-in-law?"

"Yeah. Damn jaguars. Pack's been with New Mexico for generations. They think he's some god, their god." He shook his head. "Knew they were trouble, but Frannie wouldn't listen. Timas, he's got money, seemed to treat her okay, I thought…" He sighed. "I thought he'd protect her."

"I'm sorry your family got dragged into this."

Quinn pulled a face. "Not your fault, babe. Goddamn deaders. I wish I knew what New Mexico wanted."

I shrugged. "Who knows. I've never even met him. You ever work for him?"

"No. I only cover as far west as Texas."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to recall what Eric told me about the clans. "New Mexico is in Narayana, right?"

Quinn looked impressed. "No, Zeus. He's married to Arizona though, and she's in Narayana."

"Like Nevada."

Quinn sat up and said slowly, "Last winter…"

"A job?" I asked, thinking it was secret squirrel stuff he couldn't share.

He shook his head. "No. I wasn't there. Something went down in Dallas." _Rumours the Pythoness was there. Texas kept it real quiet. _"Some big vamp meeting. A trial, maybe."

"Don't they have those at summits?"

"Usually. Must have been urgent. Tennessee disappeared suddenly. Vamps from all over Zeus and Amun too." His mind thrummed with caution. "Afterwards new deaders took over in Alabama and… in Oklahoma."

Freyda had been ended, which meant… That was why Quinn was hesitant. "Eric was there," I said wearily.

"Probably," Quinn said, watching me closely. "If he was after Oklahoma, a deader from Texas got it. Isabel Beaumont."

"Oh." I remembered Isabel, and the cruel punishment Stan gave her and Hugo. I wondered if Isabel would be as pitiless a ruler as her former king.

"Nevada was supposed to be there, but he didn't make it. He was attacked. Lost an arm." Quinn didn't look at all sorry. Neither was I.

"How'd that happen?" I asked.

"I heard it was New Mexico, over some dispute his wife had with Felipe."

"So New Mexico doesn't like Felipe." That didn't explain what he had against Tennessee, unless … I frowned. "Is Tennessee real friendly with Felipe?"

"I don't think so. He spoke to Felipe for me once."_ Only time I wanted anything to do with that caped fucker after what he did. Got the job too, despite the bad blood with~_

Felipe holding Quinn's family hostage was still a sore point, so I didn't press for details. "Could Tennessee be trying to get hold of me for Felipe?"

"No, babe. Felipe can't touch you here. Northman is our only worry. Tennessee will back off, I'm sure of it. He's always been reasonable in the past."

I nodded, wishing he was as certain as he sounded.

I reckoned Tennessee was a very real worry, and I highly doubted he would take no for an answer now he knew I was here. I'd been a fool not to listen to Sam's warning, but just for once I wanted to believe I had some sort of say over my own life. And damn it, I was an American. I should be free to live in whatever state I wanted.

Sighing unhappily, I rested my head on Quinn's shoulder. He put his arm around me and we sat taking comfort from each other for a while.

…

That afternoon Quinn introduced Shawn and Mack, big beefy werewolves who would be keeping an eye on me for a few weeks. I insisted on paying them, and they were real pleased with that. The next day, Sunday, was hot and humid. Lazing with Quinn – in bed, on the couch, in the yard – I managed to put our vampire troubles to the back of my mind.

In the evening storm clouds bubbled on the horizon and dry lightening crackled in the distance. As Memphis held its breath, waiting for rain to douse the heat, Quinn's phone chirped out the ringtone he'd set for Mack.

Whatever the text said, it sent Quinn prowling round the house, checking doors and windows. After an anxious ten minutes, he called back. I held my breath, my heart racing when Quinn didn't even speak into his cell.

"No answer," he said grimly. "I should take a look."

"I'm coming with you," I said firmly. Before he could argue I pounded up the stairs and grabbed my handgun from my room. The sight of Pam's gift shut Quinn's protests down. I just hoped we didn't run into any cops. I wasn't waiting for a permit.

Quinn fetched a torch from the kitchen for me. Slipping the gun into the back of my jeans, I hefted the torch in my hand. It would make a decent club. The gun, cold against my back, wasn't that reassuring. I knew I wasn't fast enough to draw it if a vampire blurred out of the dark.

I kept the torch off, figuring it would give away our position, and used my most potent weapon: my telepathy. I scanned as far around us as I could, while Quinn prowled the edge of his property, scenting for a trail.

Fat lazy rain drops hit the sidewalk as we crossed the main road into the park. After fraught and adrenaline-filled trek across open ground lit by lightening flashes that made us sitting ducks, we fetched up at a stand of trees. Quinn stopped dead, motioning for me to scan the thick patch of undergrowth ahead. I stretched my senses to the limit. No-one, supe or human, in range.

I signalled all clear. Quinn moved his head from side to side, inhaling. Lightening lit up his face, not quite human and nostrils flaring.

"Blood," he growled. Rain pattered faster on the leaves, the downpour starting in earnest.

We found bodies, still warm, in a clearing under the trees. Mack's head lolled horribly in the torchlight, his neck snapped. The other wolf was face down, head caved in a way that made me gag. A rock the size of my fist glistened blackly next to him. It wasn't Shawn. Quinn confirmed that by taking a good sniff of the corpse, his eyes glowing like a cat's in the dark. My stomach roiled.

Quinn searched the area. He crouched down about ten feet away from the bodies, peering at something crumpled on the ground. Clothes.

"Vampire," he whispered, lifting up a bloodied branch. Whoever it was had been staked.

"That branch…" I turned slowly, sweeping the torch over the dripping bushes. "I don't see where it came from."

"Mack wasn't stupid," Quinn said, eyes glinting as his head turned. "Why would he follow a deader here, where he could be ambushed?"

Something else was bugging me. Shivering, I moved closer to Quinn and whispered, "If Mack or his friend staked the vamp, who killed them?"

The back of my neck prickled. Wiping wet hair off my face, I peered up into the dark trees.

"I don't smell anyone else, but the rain..." He growled uneasily. "Let's get you back to the house."

He went out again when the packmaster arrived with reinforcements. By the time he came back, wet and dishevelled, I was dozing on the couch.

"What happened?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. He smelt of damp fur.

"Damn vampires," he grumbled, lifting me up and carrying me to bed.

The packmaster, Linden, had notified the vamps. Tennessee split his time between Memphis and Nashville so there was a sheriff for each, but one of his personal entourage, a gal called Clarabel, turned up. Linden assumed the worst: that Tennessee was covering up for one of his own.

Tempers were short, accusations were thrown. Quinn barely managed to stop a fight. He didn't tell me the rest, but as we were in bed, his arms around me, I saw it anyway.

Clarabel had let slip that Eric was after me. Quinn hadn't exactly told Linden that when he'd called in his favour and asked for some muscle. Once Clarabel left, Linden exploded, yelling at Quinn that it was his fault he had to break the news to Mack's widow and find the money to support his kids, adding cruelly that he sure hoped the pussy was worth it.

I swallowed hard. Mack had kids. Pushing a wave of guilt aside, I asked, "What happened to Shawn?"

"He got sick. The other wolf stepped in. A newcomer, not been around long."

"Doesn't that seem weird to you?" Quinn agreed. "Did you find where that branch came from?"

"Didn't have a chance." He sighed. "Between the bickering and a cop car showing up, we had to get the bodies moved."

After Quinn fell asleep, I lay in the dark trying to put the pieces together, trying not to see that bloody rock and Mack's staring eyes.

…

In the morning, I wanted to call Linden, offer to help Mack's family, do something, but Quinn said to wait. Moping around the house, I wondered if I'd done the right thing coming to Memphis. Homesick to my stomach, I itched to call Michele, or Kennedy, but instead I called Amelia. I could be totally honest with her.

She was out.

Quinn was furious when he came home. We'd been summoned.

We drove past the country club, along a road of mansions behind high walls. With owners rich enough to pay for privacy _and _the security guards to enforce it, I reckoned. Tennessee and his rock-star act would fit right in. A set of gates opened for us and we pulled up by a fountain. A silent vamp showed us to a waiting room.

Quinn had worn a suit. I refused to waste a dress on Tennessee but wore a smart pant suit instead, reluctantly giving him more respect than he deserved.

He wasn't my king.

He wasn't going to be my king.

Over my dead body.

After a wait that reinforced our place at the bottom of the food chain, we were allowed into his smart modern office. Tennessee was lounging, feet up on the desk, like another high-handed vampire I knew. The other vamp in the room was a hard-faced skinny blonde with a vicious smile. Clarabel, Tennessee's chief investigator, matching Quinn's mental image of her to a T. She was sitting on the only comfortable couch.

"Sit," Tennessee said waving at two hard chairs in front of his desk.

We sat.

"I've had my fill of snarling wolves tonight," he said sharply. "Trouble follows swiftly in your wake, lass. You've disrupted my pleasant little kingdom very quickly."

Quinn shifted restlessly, but let me speak for myself, sticking to the agreement I'd forced out of him before we left.

"With all due respect," I began, meaning the nada, zilch and zip I owed him, "it was a vampire that killed those Weres. Not me."

"A vampire, yes, but not one of mine," he drawled. "One of Louisiana's, I believe."

I shrugged. "They sure weren't working for me. I don't want anything to do with y'all."

He leaned further back in his chair, regarding me through narrowed eyes. "We can't always get what we want, Miss Stackhouse. Northman will not be thwarted easily. You need my help."

"I don't think so." He could kiss my tanned ass. I didn't trust him as far as I could spit. I was watching him closely, determined not to miss anything, however slight.

"Your protector," he gestured indolently at Quinn, "isn't up to scratch. Last night was only a scout, one lone vampire slipping into my kingdom to test the waters. Northman will not remain so subtle."

Two dead Weres didn't strike me as subtle at all. I let Quinn field this one, as Tennessee was impugning his abilities.

"Neither will I," Quinn said decisively. "If he persists I'll take it to the Caucus."

"The Caucus? That _circus_ is neither fish nor fowl. They have no teeth to bite Northman with, and you know it, tiger. And she is not two-natured. They won't help you." He pulled his feet off the desk and sat up abruptly. He was pissed, his words clipped. "I weary of this. Miss Stackhouse, Sophie Ann and de Castro treated you poorly. I was prepared to wait for you to realise I am different, but I see you are as stubborn as I've been told and will not be swayed. It is time to show our cards. No more subtlety."

His jaw tensed minutely after his last word, as if he'd given something away.

He had.

It was funny how one poorly chosen word could do that. Tennessee had been walking softly, carrying a big stick. Being subtle.

He called last night subtle.

My gut said that 'scout' wasn't working for Eric at all. Shawn's sudden substitution, the wolves stupidly following the vampire… I still couldn't quite solve the puzzle, but I sensed the encounter wasn't supposed to end in mutual annihilation. Tennessee had a _subtler_ plan, one that had blown up in his face. Losing that scout, _his_ scout had annoyed him no end.

All that passed through my mind faster than greased lightning while he was talking. He finished with: "My offer is generous. You would be wise to accept it."

"No," Quinn said firmly. "She's not working for you."

"Really?" His eyes glittered. "You're not in a position to protest, tiger."

Quinn, fists clenching, snapped, "You can't threaten me."

"Oh, but I can. That house you live in, the cars you drive, how will you ever pay for them without your precious job?"

"I'm too valuable to fire. You don't own me or Special Events." _Can't make a deal. Frannie. Mama._

"I don't have to own it. Just control those who do." He raised one sardonic eyebrow, staring Quinn down.

The penny dropped and a growl tore out of Quinn's throat. His face rippled, cheekbones shifting. Clarabel got to her feet slowly, and I grabbed Quinn's arm, digging my nails in hard.

_Backers under his thumb… I'm screwed… No way out._

His thoughts were spiralling, becoming less human.

"Quinn," I snapped urgently, my heart pounding."Not here."

He stared at me for a second, eyes animal, blank of all rational thought. He shook his head, regained control.

Tennessee smirked. "My, my. She has you well trained."

I glared at the jackass.

"Here," he said, picking up a folder and tossing it towards me. "You're the one with a cool head, look that over. Come back in two nights ready to negotiate. Listen to her, Quinn." His face hardened. "And not a word to anyone about the extent of my influence at Special Events."

…

Tennessee's offer seemed generous on the surface: good pay and conditions, health insurance, yada, yada. But we both knew it was a slippery slope. And with New Mexico's threat hanging over Frannie and Quinn's mom I couldn't accept.

But if I refused Quinn lost his job, or worse.

Quinn was damned either way. It was tearing him apart, and I couldn't bear that he was in that position because of me.

We talked for hours, desperate to find a way out of the steel trap closing on us. At times we snapped and snarled at each other like stray dogs fighting over scraps. Then, my heart sinking, I feared circumstances would drive us apart again.

Sick of talking in circles I suggested wearily, "Maybe I should go back home."

"You promised to stick at this," he said in a hurt tone. "You can't bail on me every time things get difficult. Fuck, Sookie, that's what you did last time."

"Oh yeah? Maybe if you hadn't left me hanging for months–"

"I couldn't get a message out!" he snapped. "I risked Frannie's life, sending her to warn you."

"Too little, too late, buddy."

"It would have got them killed!" Quinn bellowed.

Suddenly furious I was on my feet, and so was he. "All I wanted was a damn call!" I yelled back.

"It was too dangerous. You would've done the same to protect Jason!" He added bitterly, "Hell, maybe even Northman."

"How can you say that!"

"Because you liked being under his influence too much," he said hoarsely. "You never fought it."

With that he stormed out of the kitchen. Once I calmed down, I realised his words hurt because they were true. I would have done the same for Jason.

And I had bailed on him.

He wasn't the first person to call me on that. Eric commented once that I had a habit of running when things got tough. At the time I hadn't had enough relationship experience to deny it, but maybe that hit closer to the bone than I wanted to admit.

A little voice whispered Rory's words about love and sacrifice, letting go and giving up, in my ear. I told it to take a running jump.

I wasn't giving up this time. There had to be a way.

I took Quinn a coffee, rapping cautiously on his door. He threw it open, blurting out his apologies as I did the same. The conversation was calmer after that. We'd aired the past, said things that needed saying.

We tried to find a solution, we really did. I didn't have the heart to offer to sneak back home again, not after the betrayal in Quinn's eyes the first time, but it was the only thing I could think of that would get Quinn's family out of danger. We even discussed running, the destinations wilder each time we circled back to the idea. New Mexico, to depend on another untrustworthy vampire king's mercy. The East coast. The West coast. Canada.

Exhausted and no nearer a solution, I slipped into a fitful doze, slumped on Quinn's bed. The sun woke me. Leaving Quinn snoring, I slipped downstairs, scowling bleary-eyed at the folder on the kitchen counter. Once I had a coffee in my hand, I flicked through the damn thing half-heartedly. Sighing, I dropped my hand, letting the folder shut.

If this was the rocky path Rosa saw, only a damn mountain goat could climb it.

I wandered the ground floor, looking at Quinn's things. He shouldn't have to give up his home, his job, his life here for me. I didn't want to run.

Maybe we could stay if Quinn drummed up enough twoey support to keep Tennessee at bay… How many more broken necks and widows would that cost my conscience?

Too many. What else could I do?

Go back to Louisiana and face Eric. Running back home with my tail between my legs wasn't real appealing, but deep down I wondered if Sam hadn't been right, if Eric wasn't the better devil, because the prospect didn't terrify me half as much as being Tennessee's asset did.

Going home would break Quinn's heart, and I'd loose my chance with him for good. But Quinn would be free, free to meet someone with less baggage.

If Tennessee didn't take it too badly. Shit, I hadn't factored that in. I'd be leaving Quinn to face the music.

So that left, what? Find some way to protect Quinn's family – how, I had no idea – then negotiate with Tennessee, hoping he'd be a fair employer, so Quinn could keep his job.

I really didn't want that. I was running out of options. It was time to admit I couldn't handle this, call Mr C and beg him to–

A soft knock startled me and I whirled round, sloshing coffee onto the floor. A face peered through the glass panel in the back door.

Niall.

We stared at each other for a moment.

I crossed the kitchen and drew back the bolt. Figuring our relationship was about as intimate as Quinn and Camargo's, I slipped out and pulled the door closed, blocking him from the house.

He was taken aback.

"Quinn's asleep," I muttered as an excuse. "What do you want, Niall?"

He ignored my rudeness and laid a gentle hand on my cheek. Turning my face upwards, he took in my puffy eyes and said softly, "I felt your distress last night. What ails you, child?"

We sat on the decking and I spilt the whole woeful tale. When I finished he gave me his handkerchief and looked around the yard while I dabbed my eyes and wiped my nose, sniffing quietly.

"There's not enough sun for you," he said disapprovingly.

The trees cast long early-morning shadows over the whole garden. I wasn't sure if he was commenting on that, or my life choices, so I stayed silent.

Turning to me, he asked gently, "You are determined to be with the tiger?"

I nodded.

"Even if it means working for Tennessee?"

I sighed. "I guess. If that's what it takes."

He frowned. "You are too used to vampires. I should not have asked Northman to protect you. Even he has become a thorn in your side.

I grimaced. "Yeah. Him storming over and demanding me back like a piece of lost luggage sure didn't help."

"He has to think of his kingdom. He has a reputation for ruthlessness to uphold."

Yeah, I got it. Eric had his reasons to come after me: his throne, his reputation, his pride. "All he did was make Tennessee want his own telepath."

"Don't worry, child," he said kindly, placing a warm hand on my knee and leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. "I can help, if you wish it."

Blinking, I tried to resist the warm fairy glow he'd given me. "How?"

He smiled, his face painfully beautiful despite its fine lines. "I can place you under my protection."

"Oh. Would that…? I mean…" I bit my lip, not sure how to ask without offending him.

"You want to know if Tennessee will fear my wrath now I am a humble envoy, yes?"

I nodded and he sat ramrod straight, a proud expression on his face.

"Oh, he will. I told you I took the post partly for you."

"You did." I figured I was a very small part of his decision. Dillon wanting his powerful father out of his hair was probably a larger part of it.

"Envoy allows me a certain… flexibility that prince did not. As prince, for example, I could not pursue a personal vendetta against a vampire king. Not without starting a war." This time his smile was predatory.

"Oh. Wouldn't that still be a no-no for an envoy?"

"The council might replace me, perhaps. _After_ the vampire was finally dead," he said with relish. "But it will not come to that. Under the latest treaty, the undead agreed to respect the sanctity of our envoys. Their personage, their staff. _Anyone_ under their protection."

"Oh. So, with your protection…"

"Tennessee would have to leave you be."

"What about…?"

"The fae?" His eyes darkened with regret. "We are at peace. You will be safe this time."

…

Quinn was huffy, grumbling until I told him I'd been contemplating going home or making a deal with Tennessee just to free him of the catch-22 situation we were in. Grudgingly, he admitted he had no other way out.

I was backed – or rather Quinn and I were backed – into a corner.

I accepted Niall's offer. He owed me for my scars and his absences. I told myself this evened the score. I had conditions though. No fairies moving in, or interfering in my life.

Niall, I discovered, had a flair for the dramatic. He had me arrange for Tennessee to meet us at Marcie's. If Tennessee was surprised to hear from me a night early, he didn't comment. Quinn and I were waiting at a table when he and his sidekick Clarabel arrived.

"Miss Stackhouse, Quinn," Tennessee said, taking a seat and eyeing the folder in front of me. "You are ready to talk terms?"

"Yes. But," I gestured to the empty fifth chair, "I'd like to invite a friend."

"A lawyer?"

"Someone with more experience negotiating than I have."

He considered for a moment. "Very well."

Vampires don't shock easily, or rather they hide it well. To see the smarmy, arrogant jackass actually gape like a goldfish when Niall strolled over and sat down was something wonderful to behold.

"Envoy," Tennessee said stiffly once he'd recovered. "To what do I owe the _pleasure_?"

Pleasure sounded like nails on a chalk board as he said it.

Niall smiled. "I heard of Miss Stackhouse's predicament. I came to her aid."

"In what capacity?"

"I am offering her my protection. Officially."

A scowl slipped across Tennessee's face like a ripple on a pond. "I see," he said. 'Negotiations' weren't going his way. He asked me, blue eyes blazing, "You accept his protection willingly?"

For a fraction of a second I hesitated, then I said firmly, "Yes."

After a short exchange, angry on Tennessee's part and triumphant on Niall's, the vampires left the table, retreating before Tennessee lost his temper.

Quinn and I grinned wildly at each other. Niall had to get back to his pesky duties, but I hugged him tightly before he left, sincerely thankful even if I couldn't voice it. Quinn ordered champagne and we celebrated.

Later, the wording of Tennessee's question intrigued me. The last person who'd asked if I was _willing_ was Eastorhild. Willingness seemed to have some significance in supernatural interactions. Especially ones that came at a price I realised in a flash of insight, swallowing down my immediate worry.

Last time I accepted Niall's help I asked if it would cost me and he simply replied that I was kin. This time I hadn't asked, assuming nothing had changed.

I sure hoped that wouldn't come back to bite me in the ass.

…

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes:<strong>

1. I based Tennessee on Richard Armitage, playing Guy of Guisborne. A villain, but oh so pretty.

2. Literally, 'Heart of the Mountains'. From the translation of Tepeyollotli, an Aztec jaguar god also associated with earthquakes.

3. Night Wind. An alternative name for the Aztec god Tezcatlipoca, the name New Mexico uses.


	15. Impasse

And now, let's find out what Eric's been up to.

* * *

><p><strong>Impasse<strong>

* * *

><p>After the meeting at Sanctum I rested at Oskar's for the day, flying back to Baton Rouge the following night.<p>

My focus sharpened with every mile I put between me and Sookie, plans and strategies coming easily in the quiet of the sky. I shouldered the yoke of my kingdom eagerly, relishing the demands on my time that kept me from dwelling on her.

Still, a strange anticipation dogged my nights that week, as if I expected a third cruel coincidence to throw Sookie into my path at any moment. When the axe fell, it was Pam, not Sookie, who appeared unexpectedly.

…

My official residence was out in the suburbs. I wanted a modicum of privacy, something I wouldn't get in downtown Baton Rouge. Or New Orleans – I'd foisted that poisoned chalice on Oskar, who didn't mind being in the thick of it, on display to the tourists.

He was used to crowds after New York, but I preferred a more peaceful existence. I had chosen a modest plantation-style property for my residence, with plenty of land and verandas on all three floors.

And a roof terrace. Very handy.

Not an excessive display of wealth like Freyda's 'palace'. I didn't need ballrooms or a large entourage. Small was beautiful.

Far easier to spot a traitor among a dozen than fifty.

To that end I streamlined my retinue, expecting each member to work hard enough for two. No fat, only lean. No waste, no idiots, no ass-kissers. Just competent, efficient staff.

Only a few stayed on site at any time. Typically three or four vampires, usually those on guard duty, took their day-rest in the house. My second had a permanent room, but didn't always use it. He never arrived long after sunset, so whatever bolt-holes he had were close.

A few breathers were allotted permanent quarters, but not in the main house. There were outbuildings: a gatehouse, two small cottages, the dojo I had added, and guest rooms over the garage block. An eight foot wall enclosed the grounds. Not much of a barrier for supes, but it stopped casual observers. The set up was akin to Russell's mansion; shapeshifters guarded the perimeter during the day.

The main house was of solid brick construction with sturdy shutters. I had those augmented with discreet steel barriers. The first floor was easily split into two areas, one for breathing visitors and staff, the other reserved for vampire business. The second floor contained my office suite, various other offices, and a few guest rooms. The third was light-tight, housing secure day-rooms and my official bedchamber.

Not that I rested there. With some cunning adaptation, I had well-hidden quarters in the centre of the ground floor, accessed from above, through my office. Small but functional quarters.

Eventually I would find a separate, safer resting place, but for now staying at my official residence was a necessary show of confidence.

The week was busy. Meetings, requests for funds, overseeing my staff, settling disputes. The usual nightly grind, nothing noteworthy. I walked out of my office shortly after sunset on Sunday. Geraldine, my day woman or 'day PA' as she preferred, was waiting at her desk to finalise my diary for the upcoming week.

"Sleep well, Mr Northman?"

"Like the dead," I quipped and she rolled her eyes. "How bad is it?"

"Tuesday is hectic, we'll have to rearrange. Oh, you've been invited to a gala next month."

She handed me an envelope, already opened, holding a thick, glossy invitation. Black tie, plush hotel, all the local bigwigs. The mayor would be there – a man devoted to efficient governance but wary of vampires. Observing what legions of the undead brought to New Orleans, he thought the economic benefits came at too high a price for his city. I needed to charm him.

"I should go," I said, resigned to a night of boredom.

Geraldine pursed her lips at my tone. "I guess these things are passé after a few centuries."

I raised an eyebrow at that. She didn't usually comment.

She glanced up from adding it to the diary, pausing her typing when she saw my face. "Sorry. Jealousy talking. I haven't been to a show since Jim died."

"Is that a complaint about your workload, Mrs Hamilton?"

Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She said briskly, "No, certainly not. I thrive on busy."

Lucky for me that she did. She was efficient, unflappable, professional. A rare find in a human.

She also hadn't taken a single night off since I employed her, despite being allowed one every week. Her in-tray was full but neat, like the pile of letters awaiting my signature. I eyed her carefully for signs of stress. Seeing none, I offered, "Things will slow down. You'll have time for shows soon enough."

She finished typing and grimaced. "The problem isn't time. It's company."

I shrugged. "Go alone. Less distracting chatter, I find."

She looked off into the distance for a moment, thoughtful. "Hm. I might just do that. Now, about Tuesday…"

As Geraldine made suggestions about my schedule, I felt a faint tug from Pam. Later, in my office, I checked my blood, sensing a vague determination from her. I thought nothing of it, beyond wondering idly if Thalia was causing trouble again. Muting our connection, I concentrate on paperwork and making some calls.

My second arrived promptly at midnight. In a suit, with his long hair tied back, Takahashi Kikugoro* looked every inch the inoffensive Japanese salary man, down to the paleness of his skin. It wasn't office work that had kept him from the sun for the last four and a half centuries.

He bowed deeply. "Kitajin-sama."*

I nodded, returning his formal greeting."Takahashi."

His adherence to this small ritual gave me a reason to trust him, as much as I trusted any vampire who wasn't Pam. It was a sign he held onto enough _bushido_ from his samurai days that he would not break his oath of fealty to me lightly. Takahashi was an obvious choice for second: calm, rational and lethal. I had a healthy respect for his martial arts skills and his keen strategic mind.

He had relocated from San Francisco to take part in the takeover because he owed me.

Two centuries ago I stumbled across a bloody ambush in the Californian desert. I was too late to save his maker, Raisa, who was an ally, but I avenged her so thoroughly that Takahashi had knelt on the gore-soaked sand and sworn to serve me when I had need of him as loyally as he had served her.

That he was willing to make good on that after so long was another sign his fealty was worth something.

I never did ask Raisa how he came to be Portugal when she turned him. A few Japanese slaves, mostly female, had been brought to Lisbon by ship in the mid-sixteenth century, but only defeat or disgrace would have made a warrior of his class leave Japan.

I wasn't about to offend Kikugoro by asking about his human life.

We went over some quotes for surveillance equipment, then slipped into informality as we rehashed our ongoing disagreement over my security. He argued visible guards served a dual purpose: a deterrent for Felipe and his ilk, and a display of status. I disagreed, giving two fangs for appearances. Freedom of movement and an unpredictable schedule were far safer in my experience.

My connection to Pam tugged at me again, but I ignored it to drive home my point. "Guards cannot be trusted, Goro. All it takes is one to get greedy, take a bribe, and I will be ambushed."

"Then you slaughter them or fly away while the guards fight. Eric, a king should look like a king."

"No, Goro. I'm not convinced that–"

A strong pulse of anger from Pam halted me.

Too strong.

Pam was closer than she should be. In the building close. Tensing, Goro turned to face the door I was staring a hole in. Two seconds later it was thrown open.

"Your majesty," Pam drawled, "a moment of your time, if you wouldn't mind." She was furious, but outwardly calm.

Goro relaxed fractionally.

"Pamela," I said. Goro blinked at my gruff tone and looked to me for instruction. I dismissed him with a gesture.

"Kitajin-sama." He bowed and withdrew. I caught sight of Thalia outside as he closed the door. Area 5's resident pit-bull was never far from strife.

I levelled a look at Pam. "Speak."

She pulled a crumpled envelope from her jacket and wordlessly dropped it on my desk. It was addressed to Pam, and I recognised the handwriting.

Sookie's.

"Explain," I said, not moving to pick it up.

She hissed in annoyance. "Read the damn letter, Eric."

I stared her down for a moment and then shrugged. How bad could it be?

That was a stupid question. This was Sookie, it was always worse than I expected. After I skimmed it twice I put the letter down carefully, ruthlessly suppressing my traitorous feelings.

"And?" I said coldly.

Pam scowled at me.

"Your plan?" I prompted.

"My plan?" she spat. "Oh, I _had_ a plan to keep her safe. It was working too. She was starting to trust me again. That's gone to hell in a coffin thanks to you." She gestured angrily at the letter. "What the fuck did you say to her at Sanctum?"

I was on my feet, snapping, "Pamela. Drop the attitude."

"Did you threaten her? Tell her she was your fucking _asset_?" she continued insolently, spoiling for a fight. "Is that what sent her running to the tiger?"

I was over the desk and pinning her against the far wall in an instant. She bared her fangs, her eyes glittering and her rage barrelled down our connection. My fangs snapped down in response.

I hissed in her face and tossed her aside, struggling to contain my own fury, rising to match hers. She lunged at me, desperate for release. I let her land one blow before I grappled her to the floor roughly.

"Enough!" I hissed into her ear, infusing it with a hint of command.

Her struggling slowed and when she finally stilled, I loosened my grip. She was seriously pissed. She hadn't pushed me to a physical fight since…

The last time was over Sookie, too.

"Your temper needs work," I said curtly, putting the desk between us and slamming our tie closed, shutting her anger out. It was fuelling my need to hit something. She was lucky I had enough control for both of us.

She brushed herself down and straightened her blouse, giving us both another moment to rein it in.

I gestured at the seat Goro had just vacated. "Feel better?"

She sat. "No."

"Tell me what happened."

"I rose yesterday to a text, sent from Sookie's phone that morning. It said to wait for a letter. She was long gone. The phone was still at her house. Her car too. The Weres were clueless. No sign of a struggle, no way to track her. Even Heidi couldn't find a trail."

I had picked up her agitation the previous night, but when we spoke around three Pam was calm. She neglected to mention Sookie was missing. She was getting better at hiding things from me, as it should be. She was past living in my shadow. It was one of the reasons I left her in Area 5 rather than having her here, at my side.

"You anticipated a ransom demand," I deduced, saying nothing about her keeping it from me.

"Yes. Instead that sorry excuse for a good-bye arrived tonight." Her eyes flashed.

She blamed me.

I ignored that and concentrated on fact-gathering. "What happened to the Weres?"

A flicker of a smile played across her mouth. "They'll live, despite an ass-reaming from Thalia. Sookie sedated them."

"Of course she did." That was just like her. Inventive. I glanced down at Sookie's brief explanation. It would be sensible, prudent even, to take this chance to wash my hands of her for good.

Pam drawled, "I particularly like the part where she fears you will prevent her from visiting Bon Temps. I can't imagine what you said that made her think you'd ban her from her home."

I didn't appreciate Pam needling me. "I didn't call her an asset." I said tersely, adding pointedly, "That reeks of Quinn."

"You think?" Pam lifted a graceful and sarcastic eyebrow. "That's not enough to make her run for the state line. She's not stupid."

No, she wasn't. But we had fought, and I had played the arrogant, manipulative asshole. Did she think I would claim her for Louisiana? I tried to remember exactly what I said to her accusations of power-grabbing ambition.

I had not exactly denied them. And that unfortunate parting shot… Shit. Maybe she thought I intended to pursue her again, as persistently as I had in the past.

And she assumed I would ban Quinn to remove a rival.

I sneered at that. That was no way to win. Even when I wasn't deliberately misleading her, Sookie mistook me completely.

"So?" Pam asked. "What now?"

I shrugged.

"She's not safe," she pointed out. "Quinn can't protect her. Tennessee knows what she can do. We should warn her."

We?

I snorted. "She won't listen to me. Anything I say will be dismissed as sour grapes," which would be uncomfortably close to the truth, "and she will think I've sent you to, how did you put it last time? Ah, yes. Ask her to have _mercy_ on me."

That still rankled.

"We have to do _something_," she insisted, expecting me to cave. "I have a bad feeling about this."

I stalled. "She has the protection of seven states."

"Like that will stop Bardulf the Butcher," Pam sneered. "That devious bastard will have her locked in a room reading every human he comes in contact with."

She had a point. Tennessee wasn't exactly known for his progressive ideas, although he had toned it down in recent years.

I could picture Sookie's fate all too clearly.

Damn the woman and her reckless impulses. She knew what Felipe had planned for her, yet she'd followed Quinn blithely into Tennessee's kingdom. Surely she didn't believe that, as her letter said, Quinn could protect her? I had barely managed to protect her from Felipe.

I tried to convince myself that she would have turned to Brigant for help, but I knew in my bones she wouldn't consider calling on him if she thought Quinn was enough. She never demanded what she was owed, as if it was better not to ask at all than to ask and risk refusal. Those biting words after her torture…

"Who knows what else Bardulf will do to her," Pam added grimly, twisting the knife.

Fuck. I clenched my fists, frustrated and hating every scenario I was imagining. Why couldn't she pick a safe state? She had half a dozen to choose from if she was so eager to leave mine.

That I was inadvertently to blame for her fleeing her beloved home stung almost as much as imagining Tennessee taking her freedom. Or worse, as Pam had so expertly reminded me.

"All right," I growled, picking up the phone. Now to discover if the crown Sookie scorned so much was any use to her.

…

A night later, I was sitting in a bland office building in north-western Mississippi.

Russell had offered to put us up in Jackson when I sought permission to enter his state. We arrived there with dawn at our heels and spent the day. He gave us an escort to Olive Branch tonight, despite or perhaps because of my refusal to explain what was going on.

I didn't want Russell or anyone else involved. I wanted to judge Tennessee's reactions first-hand. Besides, this was personal.

Olive Branch was on the edge of the Memphis sprawl, but still technically in Russell's territory. The appropriately named town was where Russell usually met his royal neighbour.

I suspected Russell had the town renamed to amuse himself. He had a strange sense of humour.

I went over my strategy again as I waited. It was paper-thin. I had no business pressuring another king so soon after taking Louisiana. Worse, Tennessee had been in place for quarter of a century and his state was more populous than mine. True, he didn't have New Orleans, but he didn't need it. Nashville and Memphis held their own.

I had slim chance of coming out of this without egg on my face. That Bardulf was already half an hour late did not bode well. I waited impassively for another five minutes.

I regretted my suit when he finally arrived. He was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket.

According to Oskar, Hugh Bardulf was around eight centuries old, hailing from England's green and pleasant land. He was a bastard son of one of the unruly barons that caused John Lackland so much trouble, if his mixed French and Saxon name was any indication.

Turned in his early twenties and muscled from an active life, he was almost as tall as me, with narrow, fine features. Black hair curled around the nape of his neck and with his three-day beard he wouldn't look out of place in a Memphis recording studio.

He sprawled in the chair opposite mine. The two vampires he'd brought to match Pam and Thalia stood behind him like bookends. One of them eyed Thalia warily, but Hugh ignored her and Pam completely.

Fixing me with piercing blue eyes, he raised a dark eyebrow. "What brings you this far north, Louisiana?"

Now to bullshit through my fangs. "A small matter. One of your associates–"

The eyebrow remained up. "Associates?"

"A shapeshifter."

The eyebrow twitched in amusement. "The scum are _associates_ now? How times change. I heard you favour a closer _union _with them, but I hardly credited it. Happily, my rule is established, and I don't need to hook-up with animals." He inspected his fingernails and added insolently, "You know what they say. Lie with dogs, pick up fleas."

A dig at my expense. I moved against de Castro on a moonless night when Teresa's wolves were at their weakest, but I still felt it wise to use two-natured dayguards and trackers. Longtooth had been well paid for their assistance.

I shrugged off the insult."You never hunted with dogs, Bardulf?"

"On occasion. Only for sport."

Meaning it was unsporting to gain a throne with furry assistance. Those who gave a fuck for sportsmanship died. I would rather survive.

I leaned back and said, "I am after bigger game tonight. Tiger to be precise."

"Quinn." He straightened slowly. "You harbour a grudge over Sophie-Ann. That was Nevada's doing," he said, his lip curling. No love for de Castro, I wondered, or just an act? "You've had your pound of flesh from Felipe."

"I have." I grinned viciously.

"You have no need for revenge on the tiger, then."

"Not for Nevada's aggression, no." Thalia disagreed, shifting minutely behind me and his eyes flicked to her. "The tiger was in New Orleans recently. He has appropriated an asset of mine."

"An asset?" he said cautiously.

Fuck. He was ignorant of Sookie's presence in his kingdom, or he would be gloating. I had rushed into this assuming I had no time to waste, that he would know by now.

"A telepath," I admitted casually, stifling my annoyance.

He stilled, but I knew his mind was already racing, plotting. "The one from Rhodes?" he asked, just as off-hand.

I nodded.

"My, my. In my kingdom. Lucky me. And you have claimed her officially?"

There was the sticking point. If I had, I would have a better chance of this working.

"She has worked for me in the past."

"I see." He chuckled grimly. "It will cost you a pretty penny to get her back, if that's what you've come for."

"Not exactly." That would be simpler, costly but simpler. Nothing was ever simple with Sookie. "She is Louisiana born and raised. That, by tradition, makes her my asset. You should honour that."

"Really. You expect me not to avail myself of her talents when she's here, ripe for the plucking."

"Yes," I said firmly. For all his professed distaste for shapeshifters, Bardulf seemed reluctant to see Quinn harmed. I could use that. "It is within my rights to ask for the tiger's head. I will forgo that if she remains free."

He smelt a rat. His accent coarsened, betraying his origins, as he countered with: "Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"Annexing her would alienate the tiger."

A sly look crossed his face. "Oh, I think not. The tiger's arse is mine."

I hid my surprise. "He will fight you on this, whatever hold you have on him. He is protective of those close to him."

"Ah yes, the weakness Nevada exploited so well." He grinned, showing fang. "You know, I really should thank Felipe. His misfortune has been my gain."

"How so?" I asked, not looking forward to his answer. That grin was too smug.

"Didn't you hear? His little cabal sold their interest in Special Events."

Implying he had gained control of the company. Fuck. If so, he had Quinn's balls in a vice. The tiger would be forced to roll over, give Sookie up. I reverted to my original plan, such as it was.

Shrugging, I said, "It is not worth making an enemy of me over something so trivial. And do not discount Texas, Indiana and Mississippi. She has their protection."

"Yes, I remember." He cocked his head. "Why is that again?"

"She saved many at Rhodes."

"Yes. I remember Sophie-Ann's trial. The telepath was impressive." He narrowed his eyes. "Which makes me wonder why you aren't demanding her return."

"I have other assets," I said icily. "But I may have need of her in the future. You will not claim her as yours."

"And what's in that for me?"

I feigned a look of discomfort. It wasn't difficult. "That is what I am here to negotiate."

That annoying eyebrow lifted again. Self-satisfied bastard knew I was on the back foot.

"You would pay through the nose – and it will be through the nose, I assure you – for an asset you cannot use? Don't take me for a fool, Northman. There is more to this."

He sat back, inspecting his nails again as he continued thoughtfully. "One king offering a human protection is unusual. To have so many is extraordinary. Unless …" He broke into a broad, cocky grin that had me itching to hit him. "Who are her protectors again?"

He ticked them lazily off on his fingers. "Indiana… Texas… Mississippi… Your allies, the ones who freed you from Oklahoma and helped you plunder Louisiana from Nevada. New Mexico… who attacked Nevada at a very _convenient_ time for you. _Iowa." _He rolled the name with relish. "She was extraordinarily sympathetic to your cause when she judged the case against Alabama."

Shit. Influencing a judge was a serious matter. I stiffened and his eyes glittered maliciously. He thought he had leverage. He wasn't finished though. I kept quiet, furiously searching for a way to use his conspiracy theory against him.

"Kentucky. Hmm, what did he owe your telepath? That wily bastard had protection of his own at Rhodes. He doesn't fit. A red herring. So, five rulers who gave you succour. What did they ask in return? Access to the telepath, methinks. And she's escaped your grip. Tut, tut. You will be in trouble."

Fuck. The last thing I wanted was him thinking he could hold Sookie over me. Too close to the truth. "I made no such deal."

He smiled maliciously. "I hear Indiana had use of your pet healer. Your allies have access to your assets. Don't deny that was the price of your throne. And you're not one to enjoy sharing. You don't want to pass the telepath around. That's why you're not demanding her return."

I clenched my jaw in frustration. This was spiralling away from me. Coming here was a mistake. If I'd given away the real motives behind my actions, all bets were off.

I would have to go to war for her.

He was already hatching a plan to use her against me, I could see it in the steely glitter in his eyes. I waited in stony silence for him to reveal his next move.

He said slowly, "I might be persuaded to keep her safe for you. If we can come to a… mutually beneficial arrangement. Indiana is the ringleader of your little gang, the one to fear. I have a way to de-fang him, keep you safe from his wrath."

He sat back, pleased with himself. Asshole.

"How?" I asked curtly.

"A legitimate reason for the telepath to be in my kingdom. One Bartlett cannot challenge. An alliance between us. Of about, oh, let's say a hundred years." His gaze loitered in all the wrong places as he looked me over.

"A marriage alliance." By some miracle I kept my tone even.

"Yes." His eyes blazed. "You won't have to rely on Indiana and his allies with me at your back."

I spent a few minutes contemplating all the ways I wanted to kill him. It made it seem like I was actually giving his proposal some thought. It wouldn't do to insult him any more than I was about to.

"No." I said firmly. "We are done here." I stood and swept towards the door, Pam and Thalia falling in behind me.

"Northman," he called lazily. I paused on the threshold, not turning round. "You were careless, letting the tiger steal her. Do not think to snatch her back. I guard _my assets _jealously."

…..

"Where to?" Pam asked when we were ten minutes out of Olive Branch.

"Russell's," I snapped. He had a private line to Bartlett. I needed to beg a favour, something I was not going to enjoy.

The rest of the drive was silent. I was seething, smarting from Tennessee's taunts and the easy way he bested me. Pam was tense, anxious and regretful. Thalia was stoic.

A familiar face greeted us in Russell's foyer, completing my night from hell.

"Your majesty," he purred warmly, bowing his head of curls. "How lovely to see you."

"Bernard. It's been a while."

He licked his lips and smiled. "Too long. Will you be gracing us with your presence for the day?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I need to speak to Russell."

"Pity. Follow me."

He put a wiggle in his walk as he swept up the staircase ahead of me. Pam chuckled quietly and I glared at her. She shrugged and settled on a couch beside Thalia to wait.

Russell was put out that I still wouldn't tell him what was going on, not until I spoke to Bartlett. He took me to a side room off his office, muttering in French. It held a comfortable couch and smelt of … Ah. I was invading a private part of their marriage.

Oh well. It couldn't be helped.

Russell set up the video-call and sat on the couch with me, burning with too much curiosity to leave. Bartlett's image appeared on the screen.

"Eric."

"Bartlett. I need your assistance."

He leaned forwards. "A problem?"

I nodded sharply. "I need that leash tugging."

Bartlett blinked and Russell shifted in his chair. They hadn't expected that.

"I will have to call in a favour. Might I know why?" Bartlett asked.

Politeness meant he was just this side of pissed. I was way past that. I half-growled, "Tennessee has the tiger in a choke-hold. I need to break it."

Bartlett's face stilled. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Russell, who cursed and said, "The European investors. You were right, my love."

It seemed they kept a close eye on Russell's neighbour to the north. And had anticipated him taking control of Special Events.

Shit. I'd been short-sighted, focused on what that meant for Sookie. It had wider implications. Tennessee would have access to every supe event in the South. And if he had Sookie… Fuck. He wanted her as a spy. No wonder he was so aggressive. She'd fallen into his lap at exactly the right moment.

"He is about to acquire a telepath too," I admitted grimly.

Bartlett's eyes widened. "Your telepath. She is the tiger's again," he guessed astutely. How many spies did he have in New Orleans?

"Yes. She followed him to Memphis. Willingly."

He scowled and his voice deepened. "And you rushed to threaten Bardulf in person. You should have come to me first, Eric. This might have been salvageable."

I didn't appreciate his tone. I gritted out, "What's done is done."

"I am not your enemy Eric," he said sharply. "You would do well to remember that."

He drummed his fingers on his desk, a habit that signalled he was deep in thought. After a moment, he swore softly. "I have nothing on Tennessee I can use, nothing sufficient to keep him from a telepath. We have no choice. You or someone else must take her from Bardulf."

"No," I snapped instinctively. I added more calmly, "He will be ready for that."

"Because your actions alerted him," Bartlett reprimanded harshly. "He must not have her. It will make him too powerful."

"I agree. But taking her by force is not the way." That could only end badly for her. And it didn't escape me that she'd never forgive me for it. Bartlett and I stared each other down.

Russell broke in. "Eric, how did Hugh react when you asked for her?"

The worry in his voice drew my attention. Tennessee was on his border. He was the most threatened by this. Damn it. Russell needed the truth I didn't want to share – exactly how badly my meeting with Bardulf had gone.

They would find out anyway, I realised. Bardulf would deliberately let something slip, try to drive a wedge between us, break our alliance. Better come clean.

I said quietly, "I did not ask for her. I asked him to leave her alone."

Russell blinked. "Why would you do that?"

Bartlett gave him an exasperated look, as if my motives were perfectly clear. Addressing me, he said sternly, "You showed your hand too soon. That was a mistake."

"Yes," I admitted stiffly.

"What did Hugh say?" Russell asked curiously.

"He speculated that I had agreed to loan her out to you and Stan in return for your help, hence the protection decrees. He assumed I was trying to renege on the deal by leaving her in Memphis. And he thinks he has me by the balls with Iowa."

"The trial," Bartlett said succinctly.

"Yes. He was confident enough to propose a marriage alliance." I managed to disguise my disgust.

Too well. Russell hissed in annoyance. "Don't get tangled up with him, Eric."

"Excuse me?" I was hardly likely to accept, I wasn't a fool.

"Our alliance is a threat to Bardulf," Bartlett said, shooting Russell a look I couldn't decipher. "He likely knows… Russell will explain. I don't have time. Bardulf was playing you, fishing for something to use against us. Now, Eric, how do you intend to clean up your mess?"

"I might have a way to keep her from Bardulf." One I was reluctant to use, but as Bartlett hadn't offered an alternative it was my only option.

Bartlett nodded after a second. He'd guessed who I would ask, if not exactly why they'd agree. "And from me?"

"A willing telepath is more use than a hostile one. Bardulf will move slowly, pressure the tiger first, encourage Sookie to work for him that way. If you could call in that favour, make sure Quinn resists, it will buy me time to arrange things."

"Consider it done."

The screen went blank.

I turned to my host. "What does Bardulf know?"

Russell pouted. "Merde, I get all the shitty jobs." He sighed. "If you remember, Hugh met your late wife at Rhodes, for a prisoner exchange."

I tensed. Freyda. I'd forgotten that connection between them. And Russell was calling him Hugh, with noticeable familiarity.

"You know Bardulf. Well."

"Biblically. You're not the only one to receive a proposal from him. But that was twenty years ago and frankly I didn't think he'd last this long." He pulled a face and gestured dismissively. "Back to my delightful task. I do so love breaking bad news. Bartlett believes Freyda discovered your maker's whereabouts around the time of the summit. He suspects Hugh passed the information to her. Hugh was friendly with Nadia."

Another piece of Nadia's fucking web. That smug asshole had been part of it, acted as her messenger boy. I growled quietly.

"Precisely." Russell added cautiously, "It's not clear how deep his association with Nadia went, but he might be aware of your… attachment to the delectable Miss Stackhouse."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Rumour says you have moved on to the delightful Rory, though. Hugh will believe that, I think." He gave me a mischievous look. "If you gave nothing of your true feelings away tonight."

I growled again, wishing I could honestly deny those feelings still existed.

He shook his head. "So proud, so loyal, so steadfast in your affections." His face softened, and he gestured at the blank screen. "That's why he likes you. Birds of a feather."

…

Pam was eager for news. As soon as we were on our way, she fixed on me in the rear view mirror. "Well? What did Russell say?"

"Many things."

She hissed. "Eric. Can he help her?"

"No. Bartlett can ensure the tiger holds out against Tennessee, for a while at least. But that is all."

"Fuck a zombie." Her hands tensed on the steering wheel. After a moment she said, "I still think we should get a message to her. Warn her."

I shook my head. "She will find out Tennessee is after her soon enough. She is not in immediate danger. He will want her intact and co-operative."

She snorted. "And when he finds out she doesn't do co-operative?"

Best not to think about that. I shrugged.

She saw right through my nonchalance of course, her eyes tightening with anxiety. She asked quietly, "What are you going to do?"

"Make a call."

Thalia finally took an interest, snapping out of downtime and turning to look at me from the front seat. "Brigant."

I nodded.

She scowled. Her eyes were black in the dim light. "Involve him and you may never get her back."

I gave another shrug, probably no more convincing than the last. "She is not coming back. She has made her choice."

Her scowl deepened. "You would allow her that. Even with the tiger you despise."

"I owe her." For Rhodes, for Hallow, for too much. I ignored that if it was anyone else I would pay those debts another way, caring nothing for her choices.

Thalia said mockingly, "You are going soft. First the healer, now the prince. Do you trust all fae now?"

"Hardly. Niall cares for Sookie. He will keep her safe." He better.

I pulled out my phone and dialled only to get his voice mail. "Niall. Northman. We need to speak. It concerns your great-granddaughter. Call me as soon as you have a moment."

…

He didn't return my call until later that day, leaving a terse message with a time and place. The following night at midnight, a suite in a Shreveport hotel. A neutral location.

I was standing by the window looking down on the city lights when Niall arrived.

"Finally," Pam snapped from the kitchen area, putting her Trublood down noisily on the counter. Like Tennessee, Niall was late, disrespectfully so.

I blurred to the chair Thalia was standing behind and sat, startling Niall's companion, a male armed with a silver sword. Using vampire speed around a fae envoy was a breach of protocol, but I was royally pissed.

Twice in two fucking nights. Kings weren't supposed to be kept waiting. Apparently no-one got that memo.

"Envoy," I said curtly.

"Louisiana," he said as he took his seat. His shadow stood by his side, keeping his hand near his weapon and one eye on Thalia. It had been decades since she went on a spree, but nobody who knew her reputation relaxed around her.

I eyed Niall's shadow. "Problems?"

"A small disagreement with Connecticut."

"Ah." She had a legendary capacity for grudges. "That is why you are late?"

"There is only one envoy. My time is in demand."

My heart bled for him. Like an unbeating stone, so not a drop. "Not enough staff to delegate to?"

"My time is short, Northman, let's not waste it." His eyes flashed with annoyance. Touchy tonight. "I had hoped Sookie would be safe here. What danger have you brought to her door this time?"

He didn't know. I might get an iota of amusement out of this. "She is no longer in my state."

He sat up, glaring at me. "Your guards failed her again? Who took her?"

I raised an eyebrow. "She left of her own accord."

He was stumped. I was right; she hadn't asked him for help.

After a few beats of silence he asked reluctantly, "Where is she?"

I took a second to savour his embarrassment at admitting he didn't have a clue where she was. No doubt he could find her quickly enough by some fairy means, but he obviously hadn't tried to find her since I called him.

I put him out of his misery. "In Memphis. With John Quinn."

"The tiger," he said with a nod. "She has a taste for shifters, doesn't she? Must like their heat." He paused to see if I would take umbrage. I disappointed him. "And the problem?"

"Tennessee. He knows of her gift. He intends to claim her as an asset."

His shadow muttered, "Bloodsuckers."

Thalia dropped fang and grinned at him. He took a step forward, hand on his sword. Niall snapped something angrily in his direction and the hothead stood down.

Niall smoothed away his annoyance and said, "And so you called me."

Only because I had no choice.

"Yes," I said. "You needed to know." Because his beloved great-granddaughter didn't trust him enough to share little details of her life with him. Details like her address.

Niall cocked his head and examined me for a moment. Here it came.

"This is a vampire matter. But you can't protect her." There was a trace of pleasure in his tone.

"Tennessee is not amenable to reason."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I see. And is he amenable to threats?"

"A sufficiently serious threat would stay his hand, yes."

Amusement was definitely playing around his eyes as he said condescendingly, "And you can't provide that, so soon in your reign. I understand." Fluidly, he stood and headed for the door, his goon following him.

Pam couldn't contain herself. She called after him, "Will you protect her?"

He turned slowly, a haughty expression on his face. "She is my kin, vampire. And no longer any concern of yours." He looked piercingly at me. "Or yours."

I nodded sharply.

I relaxed when the door slammed behind them. That had gone about as well as I expected. Niall would protect her. I hated admitting to him that I couldn't handle Tennessee, but at least he hadn't rubbed too much salt into the wound.

Hm. Maybe that was what I needed, a little salt. Wounds bathed in the sea healed faster, I remembered that. Lost in my musings, I almost jumped when Thalia blurred to stand in front of me.

Scowling she said, "Brigant taunted you. Tennessee taunted you. Kings should demand respect."

What did she want me to do? Start a war with everybody who looked at me sideways? I glared at her. She hissed at me, but she didn't move.

"What do you want of me?" I snapped.

Her eyes hard, she stared into mine. "Release me."

Pam swore softly.

I stared Thalia down, letting my power roll over her, but she didn't back down a hairsbreadth. Fuck me. Fine. She was too unpredictable anyway. If she wanted to jump ship, I was better off without her.

"I release you from your oath. You no longer owe me fealty. You may leave."

"Don't let the door hit your ass," Pam jeered. "Good luck finding another sheriff who'll put up with you."

Thalia ignored her, still staring into my eyes.

I tensed, ready to lunge up out of the chair if she made a move to attack. A bloodthirsty grin split her face and I tensed further. Most who saw that grin did not survive.

Gleefully she said, "Good. If I am free, entering Tennessee will not be an act of war."

I blinked.

Her grin broadened. "My sword is still yours."

I blinked again. "And what, exactly, do you plan to do with that sword?"

"Keep the telepath safe."

She hated humans. She thought Sookie was a liability, and yet she was offering to guard her. I was nonplussed. "Why?"

"Louisiana needs you. She is a weakness. For you. For the state. I do not trust the fairy to deal with that snake Bardulf." She shrugged. "Plus I do not like working at Fangtasia and I weary of your child."

"Pam can be… trying," I agreed.

Pam put her hands on her hips. "I'm right here. What happened to the respect owed to a sheriff?"

"You are not her sheriff. As of a minute ago."

"Your child is insolent," Thalia said disapprovingly.

"I like her that way," I said mildly.

Thalia snorted, but she stepped back allowing me space to stand. I looked down on her as I got to my feet.

"Thank you, Thalia. I will not forget this."

"Thank me if the telepath lives. I might yet decide she's too much trouble."

Still, I valued what she was doing. I nodded deeply and she blurred from the room.

Pam looked after her thoughtfully. "Well, that was unexpected."

"Yes." I glanced at her. "You feel better with her keeping an eye on Sookie."

"Yes. I trust Niall about as much as I need to breathe."

I didn't trust him much more than Pam, but Sookie had made her choice and gone where I couldn't protect her. It was out of my hands. Perhaps having her out of my state would finally get her off my mind and out of my heart.

…

**Footnotes:**

1. Last name first in Japanese. This is not Takahashi from TB. I read about early European contact with Japan, and picked a name from that time. Complete coincidence. I didn't watch TB beyond S2!

2. Kitajin means man from the north, I hope. Credit to my unpaid researcher (my son) for that translation. Sama is an old Japanese term of respect, slightly more formal than san.


End file.
